


Red-Haired Boy... or, Why There was Blue Smoke at the Tea Party

by darkrabbit



Series: Life with Theta [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childbirth, M/M, Male Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrabbit/pseuds/darkrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fresh from regeneration, the Eleventh Doctor tries to leave. Jack may not let him. Minty freshness ensues, and not the kind that you brush with. Allons-y!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

To Jack Harkness’s eyes, destruction lay everywhere.

 

There was nothing alien about the cause this time, just another stupid, fire happy monkey with mother issues, an armchair explosives expert with a touch of pyromania. The only thing untouched was the sleepful, boyish young man Jack held in his arms, so much more than one of the survivors.

 

Despite being wrapped in one of the heavy, frayed and beer-stained white tablecloths that had adorned the Bluebottle’s some seventeen tables before the blast, he barely weighed anything at all, and beneath the smooth fabric his pasty but pinkening skin gleamed with the freshness of new frost. A straight cascade of pale ginger lightly dusted with nutmeg swept from the fair features as Jack had to swerve to miss a falling beam, revealing a gentle face miraculously free of any soot or burns.

 

Despite his own aches and stains, he had to smile at that face. One more time, he’d had to watch as the man he’d respected more than any other, even... loved, in his way, died trying to save them all. This time, it had been a measly little fire. How like him, Jack thought to himself. The Doctor had never been able to leave well enough alone if he thought he could do some good. Then again, neither could he. Jack knew he was lucky then, because unlike the enigmatic Doctor, that strange and gentle man he so admired, he had only one life, and still he could not die. The Doctor’s beloved Rose had seen to that. If only she could have seen the Time Lord in his element, shining with grace in those last moments, free and alive and laughing in the face of his own demise. He hadn't even meant to die today. That bit was the worst of it.

 

And Rose was gone, lost to him and living in another world, with a man who was as much the Doctor as she might ever see again, a partial clone of sorts. At least the clone could grow old with her. Die with her. Truth of it was, the original had died alone, in a pub fire on a cool Cardiff night. Jack looked at his watch. It was almost a quarter past seven o’clock. By rights the Oncoming Storm ought to have been enjoying his fifteenth glass of ginger beer by now. Instead, the Time Lord was lying in his arms, unconscious and near death... and newly-regenerated. And the worst of it was that their favorite pub had just been blown to bits by an idiot who had learned how to build pipe bombs on the internet.

 

Before the building housing Bluebottle’s Pub had gone up, the alien had been going steady with his hundredth scotch, on a side bet in a night-long drinking contest with the Time Agent and more than a few locals. He’d have won easily, too, if not for... events. The whole room had gotten in on the act of celebrating the alien’s birthday, and all of Torchwood: Cardiff had pitched in.

 

“It was supposed to be a surprise party... ” Jack said softly to the man in his arms.

 

“With our luck, it was bound to end like this, with you in a post-regenerative coma and that stupid kid in the bomb vest hanging from what was left of the rafters in bloody chunks like freshly slaughtered meat. But you did what you could to save everyone. You always do. Because of you, fifteen stupid apes survived the fire. That’s why I’m sorry. I know our reassurances will never be enough for you, but still. It wasn’t your fault he chose Bluebottle’s. It was his. And Doctor, while I’m on the subject... ”

 

Jack paused then to ease his friend’s body down onto a small patch of grass near the pub’s northeastern corner, thanking more gods than he knew names for that the awning leading from the door was still intact. He had no idea if the Time Lord could contract any earth-born illnesses, but the alien’s weakened state left nothing to chance. He wouldn’t risk The Doctor’s last two lives in the onslaught of icy rain pouring down hard onto everything in sight.

 

“... try not to die again today, or else I’ll never be able to get back on speaking terms with Martha.”

 

His hands crept over the Time Lord’s pale cheek, seeking anything, a surprised twitch, a quiver of rage, a blistering retort, some sign that he was being heard. But the only thing he got was a whispered moan that never even touched the man’s lips. His pants were wet, which meant the ground under his buttocks was wet as well. Great. Here he was, smack dab in the aftermath of what should have been the greatest male bonding moment in the history of the universe, and he had to go and sit on the one piece of damp cement that was still standing. Not that it was much of a seat, mind you, but at least it was an outwardly-reasonable excuse to remove an article of clothing. That, and the fact that The Doctor, despite his lower body temperature, probably would have felt more comfortable with something on besides a cheap white tablecloth, had he been conscious.

 

“Please, don’t die again.”

 

He knew it was stupid, but he tried it anyway.

 

“You haven’t seen me naked yet...”

 

Suddenly a young woman’s voice floated down to him.

 

“Ahhh. Not a bad line, for a reprobate chimpanzee with nymphomania. The Doctor can do better, though. If he concentrates.”

 

Jack blinked, opened his eyes and stared at the woman’s feet. They were lovely, and well-manicured! Then he moved to the shins, noting the creamy smoothness of their bare contours. When had the rain stopped? It must have been when they got here. Wait, they? His monkey brain reeled at the sudden realization of hundreds of people standing before him, led by the woman in white, who’d graciously allowed him to drool over her various attributes. And in their hands...silver, pen-like tubes with bright lights, some green, some red...some...blue. Sonic Probes.

 

“Oh my god. You’re all...”

 

He held the Doctor close and cried into his ear,

 

“Doctor! Wake up! You’ll never believe this! They’re...”

 

The sharp-tongued blonde girl just knelt and put a finger to his mouth, shaking her head.

 

“When the time comes, tell him he is not alone. Until then, nothing. Now, let me just see to Theta, here...”

 

Her fingers worked her screwdriver, flipping it up until, presumably, it reached the highest setting. Then she ran it slowly over The Doctor’s unmoving shape.

 

“He’s weak, and suffering from extreme regenerative fatigue. It’s an age-related post-traumatic stress reaction, most likely exacerbated by the shock of allowing himself to be blown to bits by a tasteless orangutan with a signature lack of flair. In any case, he’ll wake up in a few minutes, with a bit of tinkering. Oh, and don’t worry about the rain. We used a Judoon issue H20 scoop to clear the streets and further mask our presence.”

 

Stifling a chuckle, she smiled and brushed the Time Lord’s soft ginger hair out of his eyes, then dropped the hand to his face in a brief telepathic link before speaking aloud once more.

 

“And as for you, Theta Sigma... it would hardly be right for the Saviour of Second Gallifrey to die before his time, especially in front of the younger associate who got better grades than him at Academy. Sooo... on that note, it’s time to wake up, Mister Former President of Gallifrey. One of your extended family is anxious to see you. Till later, then.”

 

With a quick allons-y to the crowd of somber-eyed Time Lords, she stepped back to rejoin their number, and then they all were gone, their molecules instantly concealed within the soft whir of their departing TARDII.

 

“So... Theta Sigma,”  Jack muttered to himself, settling The Doctor’s head on his knee.

 

“Well, my Cyrillic’s rusty, but... beginning to end? Yeah, that’s you all right. Sounds like a nickname, though.”

 

“That’s because it is one,” The Doctor grumbled, rousing at last, and Captain Jack Harkness almost jumped five feet out of his skin. Almost.

 

“You were out for a while, Doc. No mirrors in sight, sorry. But, how about a verbal play by play? I’m thinking pre-Raphaelite tablecloth chic, and judging from that head of fine red hair, you certainly got one of your wishes tonight... ”

 

Well, Jack recovers quickly... the Time Lord thought to himself as he considered how much energy it would take to scowl at the man, then did it anyway.

 

“I don’t suppose you’ll be informing on whomever told you that little bit of personal information, eh Jack? Na ja. I knew you wouldn’t, anyway. Spoilers.”

 

He ran a hand through his soft bangs, pushing them so they’d stay, then sat up abruptly, a look of such horror playing on his face that Harkness stopped grinning and just stared.

 

“Tablecloth? You wrapped me... in a tablecloth? _Jack!_ Surely you’re well aware of which and how much bodily fluid is spilled on such a thing in such a place every night by who knows how many stupid apes out for a quick slosh? RASSILON! I could be lying in some monkey’s p... _Rassilon!_ ”

 

He was on his feet in an instant, pacing back and forth after having tossed the tablecloth out onto the wet ground.

 

“I need new clothes, Captain me dear! We, or at the very least I, should go back to the TARDIS. The old girl is probably sick with worry. Besides, the seat of your slacks is rather wet. That being said, for the sake of my bum, I cling to the hope that you are indeed capable of holding your liquor as you so often claim.”

 

He tossed his head, a decidedly un-Doctorish act that had Jack trying his best not to drool. The man had always been gape worthy, ever since he’d known him, but now that he’d regenerated yet again into a handsome red-haired tart of nine-hundred and five it was too much to bear, and Jack’s lips abruptly found themselves insatiably desirous of alien intelligence. So he walked over to the Time Lord, who was busy trying to study his reflection in a dirty rain puddle, and just... possessed his slender mouth like a man dying of thirst.

 

Those lovely nutmeg lines of fluent eyebrow crashed together like guided missiles as the alien stepped back to take a breath and look at Jack, who met that gaze blow for blow.

 

“... do you expect me to return that unauthorized snog, or am I to consider it free and gratis?”

 

“Call it what you like, but I’ve wanted to do that with you and more, since we met. You have this obscenely sexy tendency to worry everyone to death. And I have to say, you look really good in my pants. Good enough to eat.”

 

Jack felt a flinch coming on, after that last fell out, but the Doctor just looked at him, studying every line, every contour of the Time Agent’s face. Then he spoke, and his voice, after so very long, was like salve on a wound.

 

“I have only ever wished to cherish as I was cherished, Jack. I still love Rose, more than my life. But she... is no longer my concern.”

 

The alien paused, stealing a shaky breath against the nearly-encroaching daylight, as he alone could feel its closing footfalls.

 

“You say you want to make love to me, love me. In my great age, I can instantly see in your eyes that you mean every word. But, to know what it is to Burn... can you withstand me, Jack Harkness? No one survives me unscathed. No one.”

 

“Fine. Are you saying you’ll show me? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

 

Then, rising to his full height, the Doctor took a step, each time focusing inward until it seemed as though the only proof of his existence lay in his darkening smoke-blue eyes, as the two glowering orbs quickly grew hotter and blacker than even the Void’s dark visage. His young, slender, deceptive hands, cunning and grave in their purpose, reached to grab either side of Jack’s face. He felt the smoothness of human skin, felt the contact of mind on mind as if brushing away a tear from his cheek. With brutal control he pushed gently into Jack’s consciousness, sweeping past every thin veil of protection as would a wave striking shore. The Time Agent stiffened in his grasp, and then the visions came.


	2. Chapter 2

Flash.

 

Jack could see the Doctor smiling up at him from the bed they shared. They had just made love fifteen times straight. Time Lords could really...

 

“I hate to interrupt your internal diatribe, Jack, but... ” the alien said softly, brushing a stray lock of brown hair from his lover’s face.

 

“... I want some chocolate chip pancakes. With jam and pickles. Lots and lots of pickles, hear me? And don’t skimp on the jam, either. Last night made me hungry.”

 

Jack knew better than to comment on the Time Lord’s odd tastes in cuisine, so he tossed off a 'Sure... ' and then hauled himself down the stairs, wearing only his briefs, one bunny slipper and an old coat. Oh, ho ho. Hold on there. Chocolate, jam and pickles... together. With pancakes.  No. Surely he couldn’t know _that_ five minutes after they’d... left each other!

 

A soft, silvery laugh filled his ears, stopping his babble, and he turned to find The Doctor standing at the foot of the small stair leading up to their room. How long had he been standing there, watching Jack talk to himself?

 

“I’m sorry I startled you, Jack,” he murmured, his young, elegant features slightly shadowed by a pleasing fatigue, “... it’s just that I can feel the zygote dividing into two individuals within my body cavity, and it’s making me ravenous.” Then the alien came down the rest of the way, took Jack’s hand and promptly pressed it to the line of his slight abdomen where the firm muscle crept just above a borrowed pair of loose pajama bottoms. Jack’s gasp was barely audible as suddenly he felt two distinct life-rhythms throbbing beneath the taut flesh.

 

“Twins? Humans can’t tell that early! You let me feel them... but, how will this affect you? You’re not exactly young, no matter how you look.”

 

The Time Agent’s voice was thin with worry, but The Doctor just grinned and held his stomach.

 

“Very true, Jack. Very true. But I wouldn’t worry,” the alien quipped dismissively with a languid little blink as he propped himself against the wall, “... I _am_ a Doctor.”

 

\---

 

Flash.

 

Flash. Flash.

 

\---

 

Jack cracked his neck and prepared to rub the Doctor’s shoulders for the fifth time in less than an hour. The alien’s hands were fixed on his swollen girth, and his face was pale with effort as he looked down at his plate.

 

“Six different dishes and I still don’t know what they want! Maybe I should just go with my last regeneration’s choice of peanut butter and banana sandwich... ” muttered the Time Lord drearily, “... hopefully I won’t throw up this time, as there seems to be nothing left in my stomach.”

 

Smoke-blue eyes considered the Time Agent with a decidedly hopeful gleam, not unlike the hungry glare of fire in a crematorium furnace.

 

“He’s smiling at me, you know. I think I may have chosen wisely.”

 

He turned and looked at Jack then, his rainy gaze a caught star in the pale sunlight dragging in from the sheer-dressed window.

 

“They would have liked me, then.”

 

His fingers curled on the slight, easy swell of his four month stomach, and suddenly the mood in the room withered and died like a fragile bloom left too long in the sun.

 

Who? The twins? Disbelief fluttered in Jack’s chest, and he found himself wanting to swear at the man for his mysteriousness. It was no time for harsh words, however, and so he just slipped in front of his alien lover’s chair and knelt there, staring up into those deep grey blue eyes that, regardless of any amount of wanting, never seemed to sleep.

 

“What do you mean by that, Theta?”

 

The Doctor stood up so quickly that the chair shook.

 

“I Mean that they know they’re Wrong, Jack! I Mean... oh, bloody fucking bollocks! I mean it was a mistake to allow this. I’ve got to get... I should... I should leave here now, and go off-planet somewhere where I can monitor them properly... and, oh sod it! One would think I had a gag reflex!”

 

Then he grabbed his lower body hard and fled toward the bath, slamming the door behind him.

 

Jack Harkness calmly collected his wits off the floor, then went to stand in the hallway that led to the bathroom, leaning on a cabinet while he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think you ought to stay here and rest, if it’s making you this sick?”

 

The door opened quietly, almost as if he’d gotten through. Jack did not need to say it twice. He shoved the door open and strode forward, only to back out abruptly at the sight of the Time Lord’s face. Those blue-smoke eyes were filling with tears, their edges red-rimmed, the liquid irises dilate and nervous as the orbs they adorned froze in their sockets.

 

“Because of this, Jack! My hearts can’t bear the raw strength inherent in all my countless centuries of repressed grief! It hurts, and it will tear me apart unless I keep doing just that! Suppressing what I ought not to suppress... I don’t want harm to come to the twins through my inaction, my... inability to control my fears around the people I... ”

 

He wandered away again, into his thoughts, desperate to escape the waves of angst that flowed from each fresh memory like the wet of newly let blood. Jack just held him, and eventually he found that he could think again, breathe air again without relying on his respiratory bypass system quite so heavily. Hyper emotional stress was never good for an unborn child to experience, and he had two to care for, growing inside his lean, sleek surfer’s body. He would have to be more careful, and take more time to iron out his kinks. Ripples on a pool, they were. With no small bit of effort, his mind regained its surface calm above, but beneath that surface lurked countless dark shadows, ready to consume him if he let on that he was weakening. So he stood, patted Jack on the head like the needful man child he knew the Time Agent to be, and went to their bedroom to meditate. Jack did not join him.

 

 ---

 

Flash.

 

\---

 

The Doctor was looking down at himself, examining his new heaviness in the wall mirror that hung beside their bedroom door.

 

His middle was now pleasingly plump, if deceptively slim for all that he was now seven months gone, tight with strain and filled to bursting with two little lives whose existence had made him happier than he’d been in... too long, always, far too long. A faint groan lessened the curve of his lips suddenly, and so he slid his thumbs down across the small of his back again, seeking the source of the ache with expert precision. As Jack watched him, he kneaded the muscles gently with the flats of his hands, pushing and prodding, jabbing here and there until he straightened with a sigh and extended both arms for a lengthy stretch.

 

“Behold the joys of acupressure, Jack... they should teach it at Elementary! In any case, it’ll come in quite handy once these children decide to be born. Could be any day now, the way they’re acting up.”

 

He patted his belly, giving the grave-faced Time Agent a hard grin as he made his way in slow, fluid steps back to their bed. Jack’s hands... to his ancient eyes, they seemed to strain toward him, to struggle for his touch as a drowning man would strive after air. The man’s eyes were hungry with barely restrained lust. Then, an abrupt realization dawned and the wildness calmed, and that knowing human gaze held him with such softness that he sighed at it. But there was worry there as well, creeping into that seductive smile like weeds in a forgotten garden. The Doctor plastered a quick, faint smile on his face. Would he ever be free of them? Would the shades of his past always haunt him so thoroughly, so relentlessly? As he once more sank into darkest reverie, a pair of strong arms encircled him, pulling him down beneath the feathery thickness of a blue comforter. Jack had been paying attention. But he was good at that, at everything really, an exceptional specimen of human perseverance. If only humans everywhere were capable of being like him... in the ways that counted, all those little, humble ways that did not hunger after chaos. But that was only a dream, among so many. Perhaps one day, when the cosmic dust had cleared, and the Oncoming Storm was only a memory of a memory. He lay back against the many pillows Jack had placed behind him, settling in to rest beside the man, who had lain back to consider the surety of his lover’s careful movements.

 

“Theta... I know that look,” Jack Harkness told him, that square jaw settling into a faint frown, “... and I mean it when I say that you of all people deserve a peace that can last.”

 

The alien winced as he eased into the pillows, drawing a stern glance from his lover.

 

“I’m fine, Jack. Just the babies kicking, was all. But tell us... what makes you think serenity wants anything to do with me? Regardless of my intentions in the last few hours of Gallifrey’s existence, I still murdered the entire planet. My planet. A Home these children will never see or smell or touch or taste. And there have been others, so... many... others I couldn’t save... ”

 

His brows furrowing in remembered angst, the Time Lord became an old and weary thing again, worn down by past transgression. His hand was rubbing his body hard, almost harshly.

 

“I’m so very tired now, Jack. Just... just let me sleep.”

 

Then he closed his eyes and waited for the kiss he knew was coming. Jack leaned over him, saying nothing, and kissed him on the forehead, just as he had hoped he would. After this, carefully, so carefully he projected a blast of calming thoughts through that simple touch which forced Jack’s mind to retreat into itself, to float on the vast synaptic ocean of its own sleep waves. The man would wake up in the morning, and not before. There would be a note on the table, something like:

__  


_Jack. I always said I don’t do domestic. Do you remember? Leastways, I have chosen to leave, having already mussed up your bathroom. Sorry for that, but I couldn’t exactly help it. As you read this, I shall be leaning my back against a proverbial thorn in the safety of the TARDIS console room. The twins are growing quite impatient, and so have negated any trivial inclination I might have had to go to Hospital while there was still time to do so. Course I hate them, you know. Hospitals. They disturb and unnerve me, to say the least. But more to the point. I need you to understand something. I was never going to stay. I can’t. It would kill me as surely as if I’d been stabbed in the hearts. I wanted to, though...wanted, but definitely couldn’t and probably didn’t deserve. Perhaps we might carry this on another time, when I’m not so, erm, hormonal and fragile. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Goodbye._

 

Jack would probably be one of three things when he found The Doctor’s little missive.

 

 _1\. cross_

 _2\. frantic with worry_

 _3\. sleepwalking, in which case he would get to 2 and 3 a bit belatedly, but close enough._

 

He slipped out of his shower robe and tugged on a slimming grey turtleneck, a pair of relaxed fit tan zip up slacks, Jack’s thick grey coat and the extra bunny slippers with rubber traction bumps on the soles. Bunny slippers! Lovely inventions, those, he thought merrily while he picked his way through the kitchen and dropped the note on the chair, then tiptoed through the overflowing storage room on his way to the back door of Jack’s flat. The TARDIS was just behind the building, sitting a mere fifteen feet away across the narrow lot. Stairs, even the ten short steps down to the pavement, would be something of a challenge, though. Clutching the rail on either side of the steep stairs he eased himself down one step at a time, trying not to slide on the slick cement when a needle of pain lanced his lower body.

 

Ugh!

 

Another false contraction. Lovely. He staggered, arms flying to his sides to grab the railing as his feet slid out from the ruined slippers and he sailed downward...


	3. Chapter 3

Jack’s yell could be heard several doors over. He slammed his fist down on the table, shattering a couple of phalanges and fracturing his thumb. Then he ran after The Doctor, his feet carried him quickly to the back door and out into the street, just in time to spot the thin trail of dark blood leading up to the TARDIS. The fly-by-night bastard must have slipped on the stairs. Growling a choice Racnossian oath, he sprang off the landing that led down to the lot and sprinted for The Doctor’s ship, at first glance a lonely blue police box standing fifteen feet from his door. The TARDIS doors were staying open just a crack for him, and as he neared that breach he could hear the Time Lord cursing darkly in a language that lilted like music. Damn. Even bloody fucking bollocks was beautiful in Gallifreyan. In the Doctor’s mouth, at least. It really was such a beautiful mouth...

 

A ragged force ripped through his thoughts, and suddenly the Doctor’s voice was inside his head, harsh and labored.

 

“Rassilon preserve me! Erm, on second thought, don’t. Barmy racist bastard. _Jack!_ Since you seem to be volunteering, you can bloody well get your arse in here and help me fly her!”

 

Jack sighed and answered back with his limited capacity for telepathic speech.

 

“Are you all right? There’s a lot of blood out here... ”

 

He reached the door in time to receive a scowl from the alien, who was rushing about his b e l o v e d ship as though he weren’t seven months pregnant with two feisty boys. The slight, firm swell made it seem more like four, but of course Jack knew better, having had considerably more than a hand in that particular pie, and probably countless others as well.

 

“Blood?” the Time Lord said, thinking about the mess in the bathroom as he leaned on the round TARDIS control hub in the center of the room for a quick breather before returning to work. If he could remember what he’d been doing before being so rudely interrupted.

 

“Sorry, false labour. And that wasn’t blood. It was runny jam. I hid a jar in your pocket, and when I lost my balance, it slipped out and broke my fall.  Almost was though. Good thing this body’s got the perfect center of gravity.”

 

Jam. In the pocket of his favorite coat. Great!

 

“Almost was? So you did fall, then. I take it the babies are fine too, or you wouldn’t be running around like a Chihuahua on chocolate. What was that about center of gravity? It can’t be good for someone in your condition to use what I think you used to prevent a nasty face plant, namely because I’m not so sure the face plant wasn’t the lesser evil. So spill it. Which martial art was it that you used, Venusian Aikkido, Gonta Rem, Yarakhini? Come on, Doctor! You and that trail of jam nearly gave me a heart attack!”

 

The Doctor came over to where Jack was standing and pressed a hand to the man’s cheekbone, then studiously began to pat him like an odd, obnoxious auntie.

 

“Oh, Jack! I’m sorry for that. But you’ll get over it. And you’re to get over me, as well.”

 

Then he stuck his hand under the console and brought out the broken jar, still half full of deep blackberry jam. “Besides,” he said, sticking a finger into the sticky mess and drudging up a fingerful, “...I couldn’t just waste it, could I? I’m eating for three.”

 

The look on his face, so matter-of-factly innocent, could have shamed several puppies, and Jack found himself wanting to rub the man’s back, among...other things. “Well, at least you got to satisfy two cravings at once. Sugar and dirt.”

 

The Time Lord looked at the Time Agent, then at the busted jar of jam, apparently oblivious to Jack’s playful jab. “Jar... of dirt. I’ve... got... a jar of dirt. Oh, bollocks!” He frowned, his girl-pretty face scrunching in extreme concentration. “Huh. I could’ve sworn that was meant to be madly humorous, but I haven’t a clue as to why. Sod on that, then. Moving on... ”

 

He looked at Jack, who merely shrugged, barely managing to suppress a smirk in time to dodge the Doctor’s sidelong glance.

 

“Where are we going? We’re obviously going somewhere, because you dressed for cold weather.”

 

That innocent face turned somber and ancient again, and Jack instantly regretted drawing the man’s focus back to the present.

 

“UNIT, Jack. We’re ah, going there to visit Martha, among other things. It’s her last day there, I need a prenatal checkup, and she’s the only one within this spatial quadrant who’s even remotely competent to run the tests I need performed. Besides... ”

 

He smiled and stroked the TARDIS’ central hub with gentle fingers, patting Her like a doting father.

 

“Martha’s the only living doctor in England that I trust with my health, plus she’ll get to be honorary auntie, if she’s willing. And, oh! Here we are, now, little ones! We’re off to UNIT, to see Auntie Martha!” he chirped, anxiously clutching his baby bulge as he took a last long look about the console room.

 

Jack was grinning as Time Lord pulled Jack’s coat protectively around himself and walked to the door.

 

“Well, Jack?” the alien said, his youthful face shining with anticipation like a child at Christmas, “... allons-y!”

 

Then the double portals of the TARDIS folded outward, and they stepped out into sunlight, snow, and a field full of armed guards.

 

“Hello, lads!” the Doctor said brightly, and made to breach the wall of guns with a cautious step forward. An overzealous private whose too-young face hinted at Asian descent accidentally struck him in the belly with the butt of his rifle for coming too close, and angry though he was, the Time Lord hit the ground hard, curling instinctively around his stomach. “Ugh. I much prefer injury to death, don’t you, Jack?” he murmured, still holding his body as Jack rushed to his side. Did you call Auntie to let her know we were coming?”

 

But Jack had no time to answer, because the doors of the complex opened, and out came the woman they’d come to see, surrounded by more guards.

 

“Get back from him, all of you! Don’t you know who this... is?” started Martha, but when she saw Jack kneeling beside the new new new new Doctor, she had to gasp.

 

He was so different, but beautiful, still... so beautiful. Her training smacked into place, and she was beside him quickly, checking his body for bruises and breaks.

 

“Doctor, are you all right?” she managed, setting a hand on his shoulder while she hunted around beneath his borrowed coat. Then she found it.

 

“Oh my god! You’re... this is definitely going to complicate the situation... ”

 

The Doctor’s eyebrows rose up into his lovely ginger hairline, trying desperately to fly off into space. Then they crashed together like two trains made of fine little nutmeg threads as he threatened to speak. Finally, he succeeded.

 

“What situation?” he muttered, his feathery spice-drop hair crackling across his body as his head whipped around to her, then turned to face the man who had struck him, who upon hearing The Doctor’s name had promptly moved forward and saluted.

 

“Meanie. I’m cross at you! Help me up.”

 

As the soldier hopped to attention and bent toward him, looping decidedly gentler arms about his swollen waist, the alien bit back a grin.

 

“Sword Dancer, my insolence has named me your servant. I am yours until the time of my death.”

 

Meanie whispered the soft plea in Old Mandarin into the Time Lord’s ear just as he was about to lift his new charge to his feet. But the Doctor just looked at him sadly and held his stomach as if he were about to be ill.

 

“Don’t ever say that to me again.”

 

The Doctor’s vicious, inhuman snarl, sudden and fierce, silenced everything in a stab of clear, precise English, causing everyone present to hold a collective breath. Hearing this sudden intake, however, he softened his tone and continued. “You’re still a child, compared to myself and Captain Jack, here. You shouldn’t pledge your life to anyone. Besides, there’s no harm done. See?” He took the young man’s narrow hand and placed it against the thick wall of his stomach, flattening the fingers out slowly one by one. The smile he gave the man was warm, paternal. Genuine. And Meanie returned the gesture with his own version, despite quivering lips.

 

Jack had to smile himself, albeit nervously, when the alien spun about on his heel and waved a dismissive finger in the air. “All right, then! Are there any Electro Magnetic Pulse Apparatii on the premises? Near the premises? A hundred miles from the premises? Anywhere related to the premises where we might have to travel? Come on, show of hands! Chop chop! This isn’t a holiday! If I can’t be sure of my unborns’ safety, then I can’t be sure of yours. So hurry it up, my lads! Think! Think! Think! Think! Think!”

 

He tapped the side of his head, while his lips peeled back thinly in a demure little grin and his nostrils flared as though he were about to reveal some grand scheme.

 

It was then that Jack saw his chance.

 

“For some odd reason, I have this vision of you in tweed and a red bowtie... and spectacles.”

 

The Doctor’s face drooped like a narrow, flesh-colored posey as he considered this for all of five seconds, whereupon he then gave an excited little squee.

 

“Ohhhh! That does sound like me, doesn’t it? Stop distracting me with those damn pheromones. If Donna were here, she’d... ”

 

His face turned ashen and he flung his head around the fenced in entry, desperate for something big enough to...

 

 _< Glurg-gluh!>_

 

He threw up quietly into someone’s helmet, retching over and over again until merely looking up from the mess was an all consuming chore. Upon discovering that Meanie -whose real name, Rin Lao-Tsen, was stitched on his uniform- had been the one to offer up his head covering, The Doctor fixed the man with a weary smile and pushed himself to his feet. Thankfully none of his long ginger hair had advanced into the chuck. That had to be one of his signature accomplishments of the day. Then he took a deep breath, exhaled, and swallowed hard before scrubbing his lips clean with the edge of a slim thumb.

 

“Sorry... I wish I could say it was morning sickness, but no. It was just... an unpleasant memory.”

 

He looked at Jack, Jack looked at him. Donna had been in the pub. Donna, who had saved the universe but lost her soul. Donna, his friend and latest willing victim. Dimly he could feel the blood rush from his face once more as every eye fixed in place to see if he’d sick up again, or worse, collapse.

 

“You know, you ought to come inside.”

 

Martha was cajoling him! She was quite the brilliant girl, an indispensable colleague. Already her skillful hands were rubbing at his lower back in slow, soothing circles, hard and firm against the stress-tight muscles. She was trying to persuade him to rest. Perhaps she thought a nice massage would put him to sleep. And well it might have, if he’d been so inclined.

 

“Why, that was nice of you, Martha!” he murmured as Jack, Martha, Lao-Tsen and a flurry of young, eager soldiers -well, younger than him anyway- all herded him into the complex, down a short hallway, then crowded him into a chair.

 

“Ohhhh... Rassilon... that felt so good! You’ll be a splendid aunt to Adric and Jamie.”

 

The Doctor eased back with a sigh and patted his belly, then popped his head back up to look at Martha and Jack. Lao-Tsen retreated behind him, saying nothing.

 

Martha knelt at his feet and, at his nod, began reaching into his coat to palpate the warm, taut swell.

 

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re a bit small for four months, but there you have it. You’re definitely pregnant, and with twins, Doctor! Two squirming infants ought to be a good influence on you!”

 

She looked at him hopefully, bright-eyed and so very obviously excited at the prospect of his impending motherhood.

 

He shook his head and took a breath, then held her hands in his.

 

“Nope. More like seven. I am precisely, as of this moment, three point four eight seven seconds, sixteen minutes, four and a quarter hours and seven months gone.”

 

He touched her cheek, caressing her skin so very softly.

 

“Don’t look it, do I Auntie? Wager I will soon enough though, eh? Because... not only am I heavily pregnant with twins, but both of them are boys! Isn’t it brilliant?”

 

His grin was bright with joy, and she hugged him close.

 

Then she frowned at him.

 

“You’re a bit feverish, you know that?”

 

Her hands were at his cheek, brushing his pale skin.

 

The alien just nodded.

 

“Oh, yes! I’m quite all right, sweetheart. It’s just Nature taking her own course. My internal temperature will be back down to 60 before long, I promise.”

 

He flashed a quick smile then proceeded to set his feet up on the small table in front of him, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as for a nap, his manner terse and loose once more as if he owned the place.

 

“Now, as for that teensy weensy little problem you mentioned? What about that, eh? Eh?” He looked around at all the UNIT members crowded around his chair. Will somebody sing and play canary already? I haven’t got all day! Things to do, people to save, baby showers to crash. Come on, lads! Allons-y! Break a leg and what!”

 

“It’s in the basement.”

 

It was a woman who answered, Major Kusanagi. She was superbly feminine, strong, impossibly competent... nothing like one of the several twenty-something up and coming I wanna look good in front of the boss types. That, and her short hair was a pleasant shade of deep violet. Those red eyes... Jack wished he could have met her under different circumstances. And that self-assured grin as she and Theta nodded to each other like two old war buddies as she was walking away. Ohhhhh! He could have sworn he knew her from somewhere! He would have to ask the Time Lord how he’d met her, some day...

 

Watching her retreating footsteps with a smile, the Doctor sat upright, giving his legs a cautious swing off the table, and pushed up from the chair with a thumb in his back.

 

“Ah! There we go! Leave it to a woman to get the job done. Brilliant mind for covert ops, that one.  Now, what exactly is it?”

 

Martha stepped back and gestured toward the darkened hallway which led to the lower level.

 

“Well, Doctor, we were sort of hoping you could tell us. It’s got the colonel and most of the command staff down there, wrapped in some sort of sticky webbing. The stuff’s blue, and... as far as we can tell they’ve not been harmed, but if you could make certain for us, it would be very helpful. Just don’t get yourself injured, or I’ll call Sarah Jane.”

 

This got his marbles going.

 

“Blue, you said?” he asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair as his massive brain ran through the possibilities.

 

“Hmm. ‘M not happy about this, but I can’t very well leave it alone, can I? Sooo! I’m off to take a look-see.”

 

His fingers stroked his swollen belly gingerly, as though the stretch of his flesh were a sculpture made of thin glass. “I won’t put these two in any danger if I can help it, though, so if you could send a detail with me, I’d be grateful. Jack? Lao-Tsen?”

 

Both men nodded, eyeing each other’s weapons and grinning ferally. “Martha, you too, eh? The last thing any of us need is to get into a fix, especially with me already in one.”

 

Hiding his worries behind a conspiratorial shrug, the alien met every gaze with the warmth he always made such conscious effort to convey, then made off down the unlit corridor in a flurry of quiet hurry up finger snaps and thoughtful frowning.


	4. Chapter 4

Flash.

 

The Doctor and his small entourage stepped out of the sealed basement stair into a narrow, mazelike landscape of sticky, faintly incandescent blue glop that seemed to seep from the walls like some sort of natural glue.  

 

“Huh,” he murmured, popping out his glasses and sliding them onto the bridge of his nose. With one finger he swiped some from a liberally coated railing, then pressed it to his tongue after a thorough sniff.

 

“Ahah. Chock full of reproductive hormones. And I should know... ”

 

He gave a wide, self-indicating gesture for effect. But then a shiver took him and he bent double, panting and holding himself and trembling with intense cold for about a minute before the odd spell ended and he straightened to full height again.

 

“Oi! That was different, bit of an electrolyte drain.”

 

Martha and Jack were staring at him, their faces paling at that last word.

 

“Oh, I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle. I really shouldn’t do that again, though. Anyway, it... well, it’s definitely some sort of infant, vaguely reptilian, I’m guessing... and newly-hatched or hatching, judging by the effect its fluid had on my physiology. Anyway, let’s go further in. I need to gauge its level of psychic activity so we can know whether it wants us to play or just sit tight and pretend we’re lunch.”

 

He took another few steps into the hallway, stiffened, then made a calculated half turn, purposefully drawing Lao-Tsen’s steady gaze from the corner of a dark blue eye.

 

“Tell me, Martha... was Private Rin here a recent transfer?”

 

But Martha had no time to answer, because Rin Lao-Tsen was already moving toward him, blocking his path back to the stair.

 

“Do not delay the inevitable, Sword Dancer. I will make everything clear. And, you need not tax yourself in telepathic translation, for as all have seen, I am quite at ease speaking any sort of Earthian.”

 

He turned to Martha and Jack, who were poised, attentive, their muscles readying to fling them in front of The Doctor at any moment should he suffer distress.

 

“You see, he has suspected my nature from the moment we met.”

 

His body shimmered, becoming insubstantial for the tiniest of moments before it solidified once more, having morphed into the lithe, slight form of a silver-white lizard. His deep eyes, though blue like the Doctor’s, were dark cabochons of goldstone set on either side of his slender head, his tiny, semi soft white scales smooth and tapered against his sinuous shape. His hands were narrow and articulate, bearing six elegant, elongate digits instead of the average, stubby human five. But then, he was never human to begin with.

 

“Listen.” the Time Lord said softly, rubbing his stomach with one hand and gesturing rather unsuccessfully toward the reptiliform with the other.

 

 Then he stuffed his free hand into his pocket and sighed.

 

“I’m sure you have your reasons, but you really shouldn’t be here. I can order you to leave under the authority of the Shadow Proclamation, or I can... I can... I... oh not now!”

 

He closed his eyes and sagged, but before he could slump to the floor the reptilian had crossed to him, wrapping wiry limbs about his waist and taking great care not to do that area injury.

 

“I am not here to do harm to you or any of your precious humans, Sword Dancer. I am here only for the Child that was lost.”

 

It smiled down at him, a large, slender grin full of shining white points and a black tongue that flickered like onyx.

 

“You must rest now.”

 

“Theta!” Jack snarled, lunging forward.

 

He’d latched on to the nickname like a lifeline, anything that would bring him closer to the alien. If he lost the Time Lord now, with their children on the way...

 

“Calm down, Jack,” the Doctor whispered, opening one smoke-blue eye and grinning, “... I was gauging his reaction, seeing what he’d do.”

 

His face lifted to the reptilian.

 

“I _am_ sorry, Lao-Tsen. But I had to be certain of your intentions without invading your mind.”

 

Lao-Tsen said nothing, but continued to lift him to his feet.

 

Martha never flicked an eyelash. She was glaring at him.

 

“And if you’d been wrong?” she breathed, arching an eyebrow at him, “... that was dangerous, even for you. As your doctor, Doctor, I advise against any and all future acts of heroism until you’ve delivered these babies. You hear me, Mister?”

 

She rushed to him and pulled him into a hug as an excuse to check his vitals, even slipping a hand under his turtleneck to palpate the bump.

 

“This may be my last day with UNIT, but until then, you be more careful. And that’s an order!”

 

He straightened and stretched, then tossed her a wounded puppy glare as false as she had ever seen.

 

“You know, Martha... an eyebrow can mean a thousand words. Ha! But really... ”

 

His eyes drifted off into nothingness again, and he turned away. “... at the rate this day is unfolding, we may not have long to wait. Course I for one have no intention of giving birth five months early. The babes, however, may yet have other plans.”

 

With that, his fingers began to unbutton Jack’s coat. He tossed it back to the man, who caught it easily. His body was still so very lean, despite the bulge of the twins beneath his dark grey turtleneck. His long, pale ginger hair was so straight, so soft...

 

Suddenly Jack could hear the man’s voice in his head, a clear admonishment that cut through his sexually inclined thought processes like a hot knife through transition metal.

 

“Jack! Stop slobbering over me. We’ve got a baby to find!”

 

The irritation in the Time Lord’s mental voice was almost unbearable, and Jack found himself wishing he could kiss the man.

 

“Captain Jack Harkness, you naughty boy! We mustn’t let on to the Posse. Now loosen up, right now, or I’ll give you a headache.”

 

 

He opened his eyes. The Time Lord was standing right in front of him, staring through to his bones with every ounce of black malice he could muster. But there was a secret smile on his face, a smile that screamed ‘maybe later’, so Jack felt inclined to snap out of his reverie and rejoin the search party. Was that a snicker he heard from Martha’s direction?

 

Satisfied that Jack had heard him, the Doctor caught up again with Lao-Tsen and said, “Lao-Tsen. Do you think you can lead us to it? Because I’m having a bit of trouble locating it psychically, and that in itself indicates that the egg is giving off some sort of dampening field. Do they normally do that?”

 

The reptilian nodded, indicating the constant and thickening presence of the blue glop as they walked together.

 

“The fluid acts as a conductor for energy and fuels the egg’s travel through space. Also, due to the functions of the fluid, the unborn within the egg gains a sense of the world upon which it has landed. I am sorry your comrades were appropriated for study... ”

 

He looked down at the Doctor’s feet, which were bare of shoes.

 

"You may wish to be carried from this point forward, as the conductive fluid has collected on the flooring in this area. I would not wish for you to become ill from the electrolytic drain you experienced earlier.”

 

A soft thud echoed behind them, and both aliens looked up in surprise as Major Kusanagi dropped down from a grate onto the floor, clad in blue fatigues and black combats.

 

“I thought you might need an extra pair of hands, so I’m volunteering. Doctor?”

 

She held out her hand.

 

The Time Lord blinked, then smiled, then held out a hand to take hers. They shook, held each other’s shoulders.

 

“Brilliant! Of course, Major. You can carry me across the threshold. Though, I am so very sorry I didn’t find the proper shoes before I left the TARDIS. I was in a hurry... ”

 

Major Motoko Kusanagi only smiled back as she picked him up effortlessly.

 

“It pays to have a custom cybernetic body, Doctor. No need to thank me. It’s an honour to serve with you again, especially on a mission meant to prevent bloodshed.”

 

Lao-Tsen hissed and hung his head suddenly.

 

“I thought I was... forgive me, Sword Dancer.”

 

“Oh, don’t be that way, Lao-Tsen! You’re doing something very important. You’re serving as our guide! So lead the way. Remember what you’re here for. Where’s that egg of yours, eh?”the Doctor quipped merrily from his perch in the Major’s arms.

 

“And Motoko-kun! By the by, how’s that, er, virtual tactile modification program I cooked up working for you? Are we practicing our origami?”

 

She chuckled at his enthusiasm, then whispered something in his ear, at which he smiled and added gently, “Good to hear it. Sorry about that activist friend of yours. He was a man apart. Wish I could have stopped that. A nasty business. Could you retool your left arm’s integrated tension compression mechanism a bit? I feel a dreadful backache coming on... ”

 

She made a minute adjustment in the artificial tension bundles of the pseudo metal limb in order to lower it, easing the strain on his back.

 

“I apologize. Better?” She asked, one violet brow arching a little.

 

“Quite! Thank you, love. Now where were we?”

 

He scratched his head, playing with a long strand of pale ginger up close to his face as though he expected it to come alive and kiss him.

 

“Oh yes! Tally ho! Into the deeps with us. Lao-Tsen, onward we go to rescue the erstwhile offspring, eh?”

 

After taking a good sniff of the surrounding air, the reptilian slowed his steps to match the Major’s, and he met the woman’s eyes with gravity.

 

“Sword Dancer,” he said, speaking quickly in Mandarin, “... the egg lies this way.”

 

Then Lao-Tsen jerked a sharp, narrow finger toward a hallway leading left. The Major looked down at The Doctor, and at his nod she followed Lao-Tsen down the lightless corridor, with nary a glance at the other two.  The Time Lord was concentrating on something, so hard he had barely registered her gaze. At least it -had- registered. She frowned inwardly. The other two, Doctor Jones and Captain Harkness, were slowly but surely being left behind. Surely The Doctor had noticed this and thought better of saying anything. But then his head whipped around and he grinned up at her as if he’d known what she was thinking before calling after them. He didn’t normally peek at other’s thoughts...she remembered that, so why was he doing it now? Their footsteps became clearer in the thickened glop before she had a chance to ask, and so she didn’t, being careful to keep her mind closed to his sudden penchant for lurking.

 

“Is he all right?” Doctor Jones called out, running up to meet them.

 

Jack Harkness, however, stayed slightly behind, as though he already knew what trouble looked like, and was eager for a piece when the moment arrived.

 

A good soldier, the Major thought smugly.

 

 _“Sorry Major, but there is a very good reason for my piggybacking your secure neural uplink. You’ll thank me later,”_ came the Doctor’s reply, a small, quick pulse of mental presence from within her uplink.

 

It sounded thin and strained. He always did have trouble with the cyber brain’s intricate neural mesh, something about EMP. She would have to let down her barriers for him, then. How sly of him.  Once she did this, his psycho-organic imprint seemed much stronger, almost energetic. Daren’t she say, relieved?

 

 _“Yes. Relief is a most appropriate term for it, Major.”_

 

Suddenly his thoughts were there inside hers, drifting along her own neural pathways as though they were both jacked into the Net.

 

 _“Feeling better now that I’ve lowered my barriers?”_

 

 _“Yes, Major, thank you. EMPs can cause my Gallifreyan physiology a lot of grief, even kill me, especially in my fragile condition. If it hadn’t been necessary, it would have been kind of you. Now, for my hypothesis as to the cause of all this...”_

 

Jack watched this conversation intently, taking care to keep Martha and himself a good distance away, so as not to be noticed. There was a lot of nodding on the Major’s part, probably for the benefit of the human tagalongs. The reptilian alien Lao-Tsen, on the other hand, seemed to take no interest in it, choosing instead to hover far in front like the anxious guide he claimed to be.

 

“Do you think he’s really okay?” Martha said, picking her way to him across a drippy tendril of blue glop, “... he doesn’t look good. I think his iron levels might be low, or at least the equivalents thereof. I don’t like it.”

 

Swallowing a lump, the Time Agent stuffed both hands in his pockets, searching for evidence of the Doctor’s early morning jam fetish. Oh no. His brain refused to contemplate the truth.

 

“Oh no, Theta, no, no, no, no, no! Damn it!” he yelled, grabbing her hand and dragging her after the Major, who had broken stride and was now keeping pace with the nervesome Lao-Tsen, her artificial footsteps barely sounding despite the added burden of The Doctor’s weight as all three fell out of sight around a corner.

 

Martha was running too, at last, and as they reached that corner, they skidded around the wall, scrabbling in the blue glop as they struggled to gain their feet, just in time to hear the hum of The Doctor’s sonic at the blast door controls, followed by a barely audible apology. He was shutting them out. Why?

 

Martha touched the old, thick door and wheeled on Jack.

 

“What’s he thinking? If something happens, he could go into premature labor down there, and it might take hours to get to him using the vents! Wait... ”

 

Her dark irises dilated suddenly, and she spun toward the way they’d come.

 

“Captain Harkness... what was that sound? It sounded muffled, like someone trying to speak through a gag.”

 

He moved in front of her, casting senses honed from centuries of soldiering in the direction of the noise.

 

“Stay behind me, Doctor Jones. I think we’re in for some company.”

 

“So what are we waiting for? Let’s go see what’s goin’ on! We may have found the missing UNIT members!”  she said, smiling at him as they made their first careful steps down the corridor toward, what they hoped was the source of the sound.


	5. Chapter 5

Behind the blast door, there was a sharp gasp, and then the sonic screwdriver clinked to a stop on the hard flooring. Major Kusanagi shot a ruby frown dark with concern at their reptiliform guide, who had heard the clatter and spun, his thin black tongue poised halfway between his teeth. The Doctor did not move, did not speak, not even through the uplink; instead, he merely closed his eyes and braced himself while concentration shone in the fine sheen of sweat now beading on his pale skin.

 

“These backaches... they wrack him at intervals,” Lao-Tsen said softly, with a clicking snap of his narrow jaw.

 

His body was nervous, hungry to move and full of flighty tension, yet he stayed fixed where he stood, wringing his hands as if he were the father of the Time Lord’s children and not the man called Harkness they’d left with Doctor Jones behind the blast door.

 

“It seems his time is nearing.”

 

“Oh. I, erm... I rather hoped no one would notice that,” the Doctor murmured, shifting himself slightly in the Major’s grasp before a long and fluttering sigh tore free of his chest.

 

“Was that man the father?” the Major asked, casting a kind look down at him as he writhed in silence against her pseudoflesh and metal bosom.

 

His nod quickly grew into a grimace, so she bent and lowered him to the floor, which thankfully was free of the salt sapping blue glop.

 

“Ugh. It wouldn’t be hurting like this if I were full term. Agh! Lovely. These children are coming whether they ought to or not. I might be able to quicken myself a little, but... I’m worried that this might be too early. I am 905 this year, you know... ”

 

He looked up at Lao-Tsen, who was hopping slowly from foot to foot, but saying nothing. Then he squinted up at the Major, who had knelt beside him and was holding his hand, holding him up.

 

“And, one of you will have to... help... help me get my trousers off. Oh this is going to be a nightmare! Neither of you are allowed to... tell the others, do you hear me? No one except Jack and Martha must know about this. The UNIT kiddies don’t count, but Mickey, loveable idiot that he is... he’ll never let me live it down. In any case,” he paused just long enough to suck in a breath, then continued on the rant, “... Major, Lao-Tsen? It’s time for me to push, so could one of you help me with these buttons? I can’t quite manage them.”

 

Soon the trousers were removed, along with a pair of teddy bear boxers he swore weren’t his, and as he pulled one smooth knee close to his chest and leaned on the Major’s sturdy biometal arm, the first of two watery birth plugs gushed from his body. Clear fluid flowed from his swollen opening, and slowly, as he strained against the cyborg’s unflinching grasp, a wet and tiny movement showed there.

 

“Oh, I can feel a hand! Oh Rassilon, it’s happening isn’t it? I’m going to be a father again!”

 

Every cell of his nethers seething with birth ache, he strained against Kusanagi’s reassuring presence and heaved, pushing his musculature beyond itself as he strove to expel the first of his still-growing twins. His stomach was slightly larger, due to his constant mental attention; for he had managed to feed his little boys enough of his own substance to catapult their growth another two months along, enough to ensure their viability should anything force his body to attempt delivery again. The pain and stress of it showed clearly on his face now, in the deep, muddy purple bruises that hung beneath his eyes like leeches, and most threateningly, in the yellow gray hue his skin had taken on. But even through this, he had kept a bright smile on his face for the two of them, as if they were the ones suffering through every violent spasm, every stealing of breath as pain lanced through flesh in a discomfiting cacophony of hot needles. As if they were children. So they were.

 

Feeling his hand slacken in hers, the Major tightened her grip and cast a quick glance up at the reptiliform Lao-Tsen, who was standing a bit away from them by that time, sniffing the air for the scent of the egg.

 

“We must hurry if we wish to prevent calamity; still, I fear for Sword Dancer’s health.”

 

His voice was soft, though the bright of his lizard eyes danced manically between hunger and progress as he watched the Doctor’s body drool milky birth water onto the cold sub level floor. Then it just stopped flowing, and he stopped shaking as the color returned to his face and limbs.

 

The Time Lord opened his eyes then, his stare burning through everything as though his face were a dying sun.

 

“It’s all right, now. I’m fine. I’ve temporarily halted the process, an added side effect being that you don’t have to carry me any longer. We ought to get moving soon, though. Once the changes I’ve set in place wear off, the primal need to give birth will hit me fast and hard.”

 

He rose, asked for his clothing, then dressed without even a hitch in his breath. But the vigor in his step seemed somehow false, as though a dark certainty had settled on him and would not be shaken.

 

What had he done? The Major found she could not keep herself from asking him. He must have prodded her, in that. She frowned at him mentally in the secure space of the uplink and opened her avatar’s mouth to speak her mind. This regeneration needed a lesson in cyberprivacy law.

 

“Doctor.” She muttered the moniker under her breath, then used the uplink to finish her thought, _“... you may look better for the moment, but even the Imprimatur must be hard pressed in dealing with what you almost went through. Perhaps you should take a moment to-”_

 _  
_

“No!” he said, his voice overtaken by a roughness that hadn’t been there before, “... I just need to get this over with, give birth and leave the planet for a while. These last seven months have been grating on my nerves. I would have gone mad without Jack and these unborn babies of mine for company.”

 

He sighed, running a hand across his face.

 

“Being on the slow path for too long, it tends to dredge up portions of my life that are better left buried. I’m sorry if I snapped at you, love.”

 

The Doctor paused long enough to drop out of the uplink, then looked over at the reptiliform, who was busy washing his maw with his long black tongue.

 

“Lao-Tsen... we should move. Which way is the egg from here, and can you tell if it’s hatched yet?”

 

The white-scaled lizard blinked twice, once for each silvery wet lid, then nodded, turned on a claw sharpened heel and stood on point, his slim, sinuous form taking on the eloquent finality of an ancient Roman statue.

 

“The egg lies this way. It is quite close, perhaps only a room or two from our location. And yes, Sword Dancer... the scent seems to indicate its readiness to do so, though from the spiky flavor of the fluid here, it has yet to accomplish this.”  

 

“Well, I could have told you that,” the Doctor said drearily, ignoring Lao-Tsen’s polite, huffish snort as he scrubbed a hand through his long reddish hair. It clung to his fingers, making a stream of pale ginger that crackled slightly in the air.

 

“Do you feel that?” said the Major, reaching out to touch his girlish tresses. The hairs leaped toward her hand.

 

“Your body is generating an altered electrostatic charge... you’re practically glowing with energy. Is it because of earlier? What you did to yourself to slow your labor?”

 

His face erupted in a boyish, beaming grin, distinctly reminiscent of a one year old who’d just done a face plant in the birthday cake and enjoyed every second of it. “Bravissimo!  Exactly. That scene back there, that was pure sub-molecular stress, brought on by the excess of blue glop, the whole interconnecting mass of which possessed a certain charge when I touched it. So, I gradually reversed my body’s overall charge and negated the effect, using the extra energy to grow my boys here toward a later, safer stage of gestation.”

 

He gave a stretch and smiled, tossing his head from side to side in excitement.

 

“But it won’t last. I’m already beginning to depolarize, to even out. So we’ve got to find that egg before it hatches, or at least calm the child down once it’s out, else we’ll all be steak tartare for little Lizzie, won’t we Lao-Tsen?”

 

His smoke-blue eyes flew like spears in the reptiliform’s direction.

 

“Indeed, Sword Dancer,” Lao-Tsen rasped, his white-tufted head bending downward in submission, “... but that is unlikely.”

 

He edged toward the end of the hallway, which was blessedly free of the blue fluid, and motioned for them to follow. Then, he wrapped his long smooth digits around the pull-down lock and tugged. Tugged again.

 

“Major?” he asked tonelessly, indicating the thick coating of blue that had rusted the heavy door in place, “... it is safe to assume that the egg is within this chamber. But I am unable to jar the mechanism. Perhaps together, we could... ”

 

With a small grin, she laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of the way of the door as she reached to grab the handle. One slow, easy wrench later, and the door was off its hinges with hardly a squeal.

 

“Lao-Tsen? Care to lead the way a little longer?”

 

“... my pleasure, Major.”

 

The lizard was drawling now, pulling his long narrow tongue over taut gums in expectation. He ducked inside, but as the others came to follow, there came a sudden scratching noise from within the big room, as if something huge was scrabbling about... as if something small was running from it. Suddenly, a sharp hiss resonated out into the hall, drawing The Doctor and the Major inside to assess the situation.  But Lao-Tsen was gone. In his place, gaping rents marred the five-foot deep walls of what had once been a refrigeration room. The blue glop covered everything, and where it was thickest, there was a twenty foot hole that cut through to what seemed to be some sort of special containment. With a shiver, The Doctor glanced over at the Major, who was busy comparing streams of data with a secret contact via the uplink.

 

 _“I take it your... illicit friend... let’s call him SalingerFan17... understands we’re under time constraints?”_

 

As she uplinked a bemused ‘yes’, his fingers skirted over his stomach, splaying across the hard bulge but never quite touching.

 

“We don’t have much time, either way. I can sense Lao-Tsen’s mental output, but the telepathic signal’s getting thinner, harder to place. What’s worse, the temporary charge I gave myself is fading fast, which means I’m losing the extra electrons I gained to the blue glop, and my stamina with them. We’ve got to get moving. In other words, Motoko-kun... I hate to even consider it, but... have you made the necessary neutralization preparations, as I instructed you?”

 

Placing a hand on his shoulder, she flicked her red photocell eyes toward the gash in the wall.

 

“Of course. Now take a deep breath. I’m going to lift you into the ventilation shaft first. Try not to go into labour while you’re over my head.  Blood does things to my circuitry if enough of it seeps in.”

 

He grinned weakly and sucked in air as her firm arm wove itself gingerly about his waist and hauled him into the ceiling vent she’d opened.

 

“Speaking as a former grandparent and now, again, as a mother to be, I must insist you take precautions against injury, Motoko,” he murmured as he dragged his feet up the last few centimeters into the wide duct. “I know you’re operating that body remotely, but still... be careful, eh? Misfortune tends to find those who travel with me for too long. I don’t want... ” he trailed off, desperate to quell the flood of emotion that was filling him.

 

Nestled deep within the remote uplink, Motoko Kusanagi smiled up at the gravid Time Lord as he eased the rest of the way into the wide vent on his back, grumbling something about dust in his hair and disgusting human mites hosting a biergarten in his knickers. Of course, there were no parasites down here, and no dust. Everything had been sealed before the egg had been discovered.

 

 _“Feeling a bit hormonal, are we?”_ she murmured in uplink, her chuckle ringing like bells through its safe confines.

 

 _“No comment, on the grounds I may incriminate meself. But, needless to say, I want chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. Plus, I feel buggy. Never liked parasitic organisms. They’re a bit like plastic wrap, you know how you can never get it off your fingers unless you pull it off with your teeth, and then you end up biting yourself and drawing blood and running to the bathroom to stick them under the cold water and then you’re all wet and lying on the floor, having fainted because you forgot why you were running your fingers under the cold water in the first place, so you just kept doing it until you bled too much and blacked out?”_

 

He gave a mental snort, then a sniff, but then a sharp breath caught in his throat and his eyes threatened to roll into his head.

 

“Oh, bollocks.”

 

He clutched his side and withdrew into a ball, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out and revealing their presence to the creature they were tracking.

 

“Ohhhh not here, not here, not here, not here, not here, oh Lao-Tsen, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sor... ry... Motoko, the twins, they’re... uhhh... ”

 

He thudded softly to the floor of the vent, the sound clanging flat against the length of metal casing like a death toll.

 

“Doctor!”

 

Joining him in the shaft, the Major closed the vent behind her, then turned to consider his image in real time, concern flashing in her red eyes like the shine of a coin in clear water.  The grimace etched onto his oblivion-glazed features was all the incentive she needed. She reached and grabbed him by the shoulders, then dragged his prostrate form away down the first marked corridor on the ventilation blueprint she’d downloaded from SalingerFan17.

 

“Try to get some sleep, Doctor,” she mouthed as his smoke blue eyes opened just long enough to focus on her face, “... I won’t shoot anyone unless I have to.”


	6. Chapter 6

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

Flash. Flash.

 

\---

 

Jack pointed at the corridor they’d just escaped from with his now-empty gun.

 

“You know, kiddies... ” he said, grinning at the newly-freed UNIT members who’d joined in the fracas in the previous hallway, “... that was more fun than I’ve had in sixty years! It’s a good thing The Doctor wasn’t here to see... ”

 

He shoved a flat hand across his neck, signaling silence, then pointed to the overhead vents crisscrossing the building.

 

“There’s something up there!”

 

At his warning, a storm of automatics swung and aimed, cocking and clicking and jolting to mechanized life. The thing in the vent tapped weakly against the metal then, once, twice, in sequence, almost as if it were... communicating. But, how could a ravenous alien lizard baby know Morse Code? A sudden mass of acid realization burned in his throat like bile.

 

“If any one of you shoots into that vent I’ll kill you myself!”

 

The Time Agent spat the order at the UNIT soldiers, who were slow to lower their reddening displacer rifles despite his frantic command.

 

“Listen, all of you! It’s the damn Fibonacci sequence! What alien would think to use that?”

 

Then the vent door swung open, and a bloody, tangled mess of wet trousers, pale toes, ginger hair and scratches slid out of the shaft and landed in Jack’s arms.

 

“Hullo, Beautiful! Snog any intelligent life today?” the Time Lord whispered with a soft laugh. Then he went limp.

 

 _“Martha!”_ Jack screamed into his headset, clutching the shaking Gallifreyan to his chest, “... I need a saline pack and I need it _yesterday_!”

 

He sank to the ground along with his lover’s chill form, holding him as firmly as the alien’s pregnant belly would allow.

 

Martha was busy tending to Lao-Tsen, but when she saw the Doctor, she relegated the reptilian to a colleague with a hurried apology and scrambled toward them, grabbing up her kit and a fresh bag of saline solution as she struggled to keep her footing on the now-icy floor. That ice was there because of the displacer rifles the soldiers were using. She was grateful to Jack for making the necessary modifications. Hopefully the Doctor would be too, if he woke up in time to appreciate the man’s thoughtfulness.  Biting back tears, she skidded the last few steps and landed next to the Time Agent with a thud.  Everything was sticking to the half-melted floor, but soon the room would thaw from all the activity, especially now that the reptiliform child had been safely contained.

 

The other UNIT members, with the help of the Major and her anonymous friend, had gotten the toothsome infant into a displacer ambush, successfully sedating it with several cold blasts. They then trapped it in a newer, maximum security refrigeration unit until The Doctor and Lao-Tsen had recovered.  As she bent over the Time Lord checking pulses and gauging temperatures and palpating the hard evidence of his pregnancy, she had to grin, because after everything he’d done for the human race, now it was _her_ chance to save _him_ again, even if it was only from exhaustion and forced salt-deficiency. All those nasty scratches...and oh, how she cherished the chance to care for him once more.

 

”Your bump’s grown bigger since you left us at the blast door, Doctor,” she mused, closing her kit, “... did something happen?”

 

“You’d be surprised, Martha dear.”

 

His breathy rejoin was so quiet, she nearly misheard him. Then he bolted upright, eyes shining like blue furnaces.

 

“Speaking of the blast door, I left my sonic there...could you have someone fetch it for me? I’m in no condition to go anywhere near that blue glop again. And about that blue glop... I see the thermal displacers worked their magick on the baby... poor thing. Stranger in a strange land, all alone in the world, the whole bit.”

 

The alien gave a long sigh and pushed himself to his feet, drawing concerned looks from every available face, as well as crushing glares from Jack and Martha. “Martha,” he said softly, shoving an arm across her chest as if to keep her safe. She looked down at the arm, which was clamped tightly across her bosom, then she turned and looked at his face.

 

His lips curved slightly, forming a slim, barely arching line of feral determination as he took a step toward Lao-Tsen, who lay sprawled on his back, his smooth head tilted away from them. Martha’s subordinate was reaching down, about to take his temperature.

 

“You don’t mean... ”

 

She held her breath, then found the words she wanted and said them.

 

“I’ll have Lambtree relieve Misha straight away.”

 

“No. Don’t let on. Don’t tell anyone anything.”

 

His whisper was a soft command that echoed in her head, and she found herself wanting to obey so strongly that it frightened her when he finally spoke aloud again.

 

“I’ll take care of it. All of it. Just... stay here with Jack.”

 

Then he slipped his turtleneck off and handed it to her. Jack was standing now, swearing in some other language. But he didn’t move. She couldn’t understand it. Why wasn’t Jack going to stop him?

 

This time it was Jack’s voice she heard, muttering beside her, just loud enough so that the Time Lord could hear.

 

“I can’t believe this. He’s going to do it. Damn it, Martha, he’s going over there! Even Kusanagi’s not fast enough to match him... he’s the only one. Damn him anyway! ”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, Jack!” The Doctor said over his shoulder as he strode across the ice to meet Lao-Tsen, who had risen on sleek white haunches and was watching him approach. “Just stay here and shut up.”

 

 _“And me?”_ quipped the Major flatly via the uplink.

 

Her perfect features, sculpted of metal and covered in synthetic flesh, held no amusement now. She was evaluating him, her eyes like lightless garnets against the bright, sterile white of the walls. Then her gaze drifted downward over his stomach and back again. __

_“Your hearts are beating so fast they’re raging against your ribcage. Planning to cause some trouble, Old Man?”_

 

A grin spread thick as molasses over his face, and he turned to beam at her. It was a false smile, meant for one person, and only that one. But in the privacy of the uplink, he said this: _“Always. Did you get my sonic?”_

 

Suddenly a white blur skidded past the Time Lord, backhanding him into a nearby wall. It was Lao-Tsen. The lizard was heading for the containment area...changing shape mid-leap as he jumped into the gaggle of UNIT soldiers who were busy clearing away the ice.

 

The Doctor growled something in what sounded like Sycoraxec.

 

“I claim right of judiciary combat by article 14 of the Shadow Proclamation! You, Lao-Tsen Rin, are no Reptiliform! Now get your blubbery illegal arse back here and fight like the filthy, baby eating Bok Sek you really are!”

 

The Doctor was a swaying mess, but somehow he managed to get to his feet again and started off after Lao-Tsen, who by this time had metamorphosed into a massive, roiling bipedal Transluce with inky black innards and gaping holes that could have been eyes, except that they were leaking blue glop, the same blue glop that had been on the walls.

 

“Don’t let it escape! It’s after the real Reptiliform, and she’s just a child! And that child is drowsing away in that oversized meat locker! Soldiers, on your feet! Ready your weapons and... ”

 

Before he could finish he crashed to the ground, grabbing his sides and heaving, curling tighter and tighter on himself as another deep contraction finally wracked him, pushing the second watery plug free of his body and into his trousers, soaking them through. A dark puddle spread beneath him as he writhed there, his lower muscles jerking, quivering with the violence of a labor too long delayed.

 

The Lao-Tsen thing emitted a gurgling laugh, then shoved a hand into its chest and drew out a small, shell-shaped device. A button clicked, and then the encircling UNIT dragnet fell backwards onto the ice like a mass of human dominoes.

 

“Oh, great. So much for them,” Jack muttered, removing a handgun from a hidden shoulder holster and tossing it to Martha while he ran to The Doctor’s side.

 

“You all right down there, Theta? _Theta!_ Oh shit. Hold on!”

 

The Time Lord shoved up then, his mouth widening in animal effort as his choking throat filled with groan after groan. His fingers tightened convulsively on Jack’s, his blue eyes fixed and staring and fully dilate while his body struggled to expel its squirming, twofold burden. Then he arched upward in a stabbing curve that drove a thick scream from his chest as his womb suddenly constricted, forcing him back down onto his knees so sharply he saw stars. One final, feeble push later, he felt a thick rush of fluid and heard a soft cry, then another, and promptly passed out in Jack’s arms.

 

The Time Agent had made the decision long ago that he would be the only one to remember all that blood, and so he drew a long, slow breath and stuck his hand in his coat. But as he withdrew the retcons from his pocket, a long-fingered hand popped up and snatched the pills out of his grasp.

 

“What did I tell you about those nasty things, Jack Harkness? You’d hand em off like Hallowe’en candy if I let you. And you were about to stick one down my throat!”

 

The Doctor made a choking sound, then continued sniping while Martha examined his newborn children for signs of distress.

 

“I’ll have you know that just _thinking_ about using one of those primitive memory scrubbers on me could have disrupted who knows how many timelines! In fact, it probably would have given me brain damage, and then it would have been twice the travesty. Gobs! Have to watch you every minute!”

 

Unable to contain herself, Martha looked up briefly from her charges and interjected.

 

“Well, Doctor, wouldn’t you know which ones? I mean, you _are_ in the room.”

 

A sudden silence and a sniff were all she got before their ears again were filled with the sounds of fighting. The Time Lord cracked his neck from side to side, stood up without assistance. Then, patting his two infant sons on their pale little heads, he crossed over to where the third wave of UNIT soldiers stood blocking the way to the Reptiliform child in her box behind Jack and Martha. He could feel her mind rousing inside the box, waking up from the racket outside. That, and the unit was defrosting. He would have to hurry. But where was Lao-Tsen, the polymorph? Grabbing one of the soldiers by a little known deltoidinal pressure point, he eased the unconscious man to the ground and proceeded to steal his trousers and shoes.

 

“Needed fresh clothes did you, sir?” chortled one of the newer recruits, a lean young woman with short black hair.  Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds whenever she got to shoot the large displacer she held to so tightly. She was going to die in her late thirties of cancer, alone in a room with only a stranger for company, unless her timeline shifted soon. Why? Always, why? The familiar lethargy of second hand knowledge took him then, and he found himself pinching the bridge of his fine nose. A hand touched his shoulder. It was her.

 

“Sir? Are you all right? My mates and I, we were all taking bets that you wouldn’t regenerate during the birth. I’m glad I won, but I don’t want to see you collapse over a few quid. You looked sick there, for a few.”

 

He looked at her, smiled blankly, dutifully. Even saluted. But he didn’t say he was all right. He knew he should have lied for her, said something at least, but the words just wouldn’t come. As he raised his head again, he could just see the Polymorph as it crept along the outer walls of the underground bunker, heading for the back of the containment unit. No more mister nice Time Lord. That ravenous thing was after his _children_ , after _everyone’s_ children, not to mention the one sleeping not so peacefully in the oversized icebox. Little Lizzie was only one of many prized morsels, of that he was certain. Shrugging on the downed man’s slacks and boots, he sprinted hard toward Lao-Tsen, casting his telepathic senses out in wide, sweeping waves for any sign of the Major. Suddenly the cyborg burst out from a ruined section of wall, right in front of Lao-Tsen. The polymorph screamed its defiance in a rage of watery, wild laughter, then lunged for her. But she was grinning, and as the thing slammed her against the wall she drew back her arm and pitched something silver and pen shaped over Lao-Tsen’s head. Then, a sick metallic crunch erupted in a resounding five part discord from the place of their encounter, and as The Doctor casually swiped his sonic screwdriver from mid air without a glance, both the presence of Motoko Kusanagi and the hum of the uplink were instantly seared from his mind like ribbons of smoke from a pinched candle.


	7. Chapter 7

“Lao-Tsen! You just attempted to murder one of my friends!” the Time Lord said softly, twirling his sonic like a handgun as he skirted around to the other side of the freezer unit to face the polymorph, “... are you happy? I was going to request a stay for you, but now... I think I’ll prolong the hostility and claim self defense! En garde!”

 

Lao-Tsen cocked its heads at him, squirming and writhing within itself like a living oil spill as it careened toward his location, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid shape once more as it moved. It leaped into the air, one black tentacle sharpening to a point until it resembled a rough murasame, the other taking the shape of a smaller kodachi for defense.

 

“Is that supposed to frighten me, you thick little amoeba? Read my lips!” the Time Lord taunted, his face contorting into a dark, calculating grin.

 

“ _What_ must your _poor mother_ have looked like? I’m guessing... putrid combat pseudopods, malformed Golgi bodies, couple of flesh-eating viruses making a meal of her vacuoles, terminal H2O deficiency centralized in the cellular membrane, irreversible advanced cilial necrosis, excess lipid buildup on the outer shell of the nucleic stem bundle... ah, that’s right!” he prodded acidly as the polymorph swelled bigger with outrage at his every word, “... oh yes! Strike a chord, did I?”

 

He pursed his lips in mockery as the black mass with feet and sharp limbs circled closer, rounding on him like a feral beast.

 

“Well, now! An emotional response! Doesn’t take much to occupy a goober, does it?”

 

He tossed a quick glance at Jack, who was busy burping little Jamie.

 

The man favored his lover with a sullen glare, then switched tots with Martha, who just smiled and reached for the baby to cover her snicker.

 

“Did he just call that thing’s mother a senile old bag?”

 

Jack nearly choked when Martha nodded.

 

“Well, Doctor Jones, it seems that this regeneration’s quite the tease. That intel’s going to be useful when I try for a daughter in bed tonight... ”

 

 “Yes, well, depending on what does and does not irk Maternus Puerulus here, I may just be too tired to play bottom!” the Time Lord cried merrily, dancing away from another of the polymorph’s increasingly wild thrusts.

 

Martha shook her head and just sighed.

 

“Have a care, you two! Jack Harkness you are _not_ to engage in intercourse with the Doctor for at least a week! He’s just given birth to twins, and prematurely no less!”

 

She called out to them, but neither one seemed interested in being reprimanded. Jack was too busy admiring the Doctor’s footwork, and the Doctor was having too much fun driving the polymorph into a mad rage and showing off. As she watched the ancient, ginger haired alien dive sideways onto a sheet of unmelted ice, the polymorph watched _her_ , and it was ready.

 

Like a streak of night it melted toward her, forming a thousand little lances with its darkening mass as it thrust itself in her direction. She was the only one with no protection, it reasoned, and she had the Time Lord’s squirming spawn to protect. To use a quaint little human phrase, this Martha Jones was easy pickings. It chuckled to itself as it reached for her, growing out and out and out in countless needle shapes, aiming for her feeble human heart and the hearts of the child she was tending. Yes. Once Doctor Jones was removed, Lao-Tsen would tend to the man who held the other child to his chest, Jack Harkness, the father of the Time Lord’s twin offspring. Once they all were dead, then... then it would be just The Doctor. Oh, the look on that pretty face when Lao-Tsen shoved his dripping stinger, full of fertilizing venom, into The Doctor’s naked stomach. Sword Dancer would conceive, and in less than an hour, give birth to a new race of polymorphs... omnipotent and strong, free of the stresses and strains of previous generations! Oh, how Lao-Tsen would relish plunging his sting into that sweet flesh, then watching as that flesh grew hot and swollen with life, burning with the unborn masses of his brethren.

 

“Come out, Sword Dancer! Come out so I may prick your belly with my poisonous thorn and fill your loins with the seed of my people! You, who move between moments, who imprisoned my kind in the Void! Soon you will birth my revenge unto this dirty little world.”

 

But _where was_ the Time Lord? Lao-Tsen molded an eye out of himself and twisted it up, looking in every direction. But the alien had vanished from view. Rage hardened the black spikes of his body into dark, icy lances at his failure, and he reached for Martha with them, straining toward her destruction with everything he was, goading the Time Lord into saving his beloved companion, and his children.

 

Suddenly Martha felt herself shoved back by a strong arm, and her body struck the floor as hot red spray fell across her face.

 

“Sir!” someone screamed aloud, and then the sound of the ice guns rampaged overhead.

 

Flash frozen in its elastic state, the polymorph struck the ground and shattered into pieces. He was gone, perhaps for good.

 

But the Doctor was writhing where he’d fallen, holding his lower body and murmuring to himself in a soft, lilting speech. Jack was near him at once, and Martha came soon after. Each of them held one of his children. He could have laughed with joy, if not for the burning in his belly. Already the polymorph grubs had taken root and were growing at a fatal rate in his stomach. He had known what would happen, known this would be the only way to insure their defeat.

 

“Martha. Not much time. The saline, a needle. Inject... all of it... my womb. The salt should... burn them out... please! Quick... ly! Can’t... hold them back... much longer.”

 

His eyes were round, black as jewels in the brightness of the icy bomb shelter intersection. Jack held him then, rocking him. His face was white with strain, drawn, taut; full of anxious fear.

 

“Oh, Jack! I’m always such a coward! Always... so frightened. I can’t... ” the Time Lord gasped faintly as Martha stuck a large hypo into the bag, filled the cavity, tapped the air out, and then rammed the needle down straight into his sweat slick abdomen. He had already begun to show, but as the salt seared into him, he screamed and scrabbled and jerked against the ice beneath his back, each breath a wave of anguished cries and shrieks as briny fire cauterized him from within. When he finally stilled, his stomach had long since stopped swelling, and the last of the dead grubs poured from the rent in streams of ashy, clotted blood. Reaching for some water, Martha flushed out the wound until it was free of foreign material and toweled it, watching in silence as the flesh then knitted itself back into place and stretched muscles shrank in sluggish unison, reclaiming their former tautness. The Doctor was sleeping, only sleeping... she reminded herself. But, she wished he would wake up. Jack was there, holding him, brushing his hair from his face, rocking him gently as he had before.

 

“I think I’ll have the TARDIS take us back to the flat. Then I’ll put him and the babies to bed. You want to come?” Jack whispered, squeezing Martha’s shoulder.

 

“God! I wish I could, but I’ve got people to care for here... and that Reptiliform child dozing in the freezer crate... who’s going to look after it till he’s better? I mean, the TARDIS may have a Tundra room but, how are we supposed to get Little Lizzie in through those narrow blue doors without his help? At the very least, he’d have to be awake to rig the Chameleon Circuit. Besides,” she said, bouncing a twin on either hip as she looked down at the Time Lord sleeping at their feet. “I’ve never seen him crash like this... might do him some good.”


	8. Chapter 8

Jack sighed and rested a hand on the man’s pale forehead. It had been nearly a week since the incident with the polymorph, and still The Doctor showed no signs of waking. His skin was still feverish to the touch, and he hadn’t stopped moaning since Jack had settled him in their overlarge bed five days before. Their children had never cried for him, not once, not even when Aunty Martha and Aunty Sarah Jane had given them their first bath. It was as if they _knew_ their mother was lying prostrate in their parents’ room, propped against soft pillows and their father’s silent pleas. They probably did. They were The Doctor’s children, after all. Two boys they were, half Time Lord half human, born that same five days ago to a mother who wasn’t really a mother at all, but a man, an alien time traveler called The Doctor, the lonely, errant son of ruined Gallifrey. But not the man Jack loved. The man Jack loved was drifting, locked in darkness behind two shut lids like blinds that held the days at bay.

 

“Theta Sigma.”

 

He said it as if expecting an answer. Dialogue was good for catatonics, Martha had told him. She would drop in from time to time, whenever she could tear herself away from her duties at Torchwood. But Martha wasn’t here now. Couldn’t be. She had a life beyond The Doctor.

 

“I thought you might like something relaxing,” Jack murmured, slapping on a grin he didn’t feel for the prostrate figure in the bed. He picked up the cd cover, glanced idly at the list of songs printed on slick, glossy paper.

 

“let’s see...oh wait. You liked the Beatles, didn’t you? Well Doctor, it’s not them singing it, but I know for a fact that they wrote it. If you were awake, I imagine you’d hum along with, ah! Here you go, the Baez years. Nice and sad and thought provoking... hell, come to think of it, I seem to recall you bearing an uncanny resemblance to Dylan, then... ”

 

Soon, strains of _‘Eleanor Rigby’_ sung in a strong folk soprano lilted harshly from the built-in speakers on the turntable, and Jack felt a bitter twinge of satisfaction as the figure on the bed shivered once, then sank deeper into the strange, not quite restful fugue. Jack Harkness prayed for restful for every time he lay down beside the Time Lord at night, hoping against all sense and expectation that they’d wake up together. But no. For a whole week, it had been nothing but wizened stares from their two precious boys, sad, sisterly smiles from Martha and Sarah Jane, the occasional surprise visit from Mickey Smith, who’d brought by Jackie Tyler’s tea recipe on his way to clock in at the Torchwood Hub on Tuesday. He was working for Jack too now, having found fresh purpose under Torchwood’s new management. _Purpose._ Jack could feel the lack run off him in waves, all due to the rapturous bicentennial enigma that was lying in the double bed in their room. Because of The Doctor, he couldn’t go back to work. He couldn’t think of working now, he’d be too distracted. _What if the Time Lord woke up needing medical attention while Captain Cheesecake was off trying to save his little corner of Cardiff? What if the twins flash fried themselves trying to take apart the toaster?_ He tossed a glance over at the comatose alien, who of course, hadn’t roused since he’d last looked. _What if someone broke in and..._

‘Ha. Nice going, Jack,” he said aloud, rubbing a thumb against the bridge of his nose as he slumped into a black leather chair, “... you’ve only been a father -this time- for five days and you’ve already become a neurotic mess. Weellll...let’s see, five days down, nine hundred and ninety nine quadrillion, nine hundred and ninety nine billion, nine hundred and ninety nine million, nine hundred and ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine days to go. Yeah. Good one, Jack.”

 

His fingers closed on the pillow behind him. It was a small throw pillow, a soft, pleasing round of vibrant red. He curled his hand over the edge, each digit creeping across the fabric as his palm slowly encroached on its narrow, overstuffed width. Then he squeezed, feeling each little tension strand of tendon in his wrist clench together as he made a fist. For a small fraction of time, the cherry red object, the tight, narrow, three dimensional circle he held became his world. Jack stared at it, taking it in, fixing on its contours like a shrike about to pin its prey on the tip of a fencepost. Or the long, sharp thorn of a solitary rose. He’d never been able to enjoy bird watching after the pterodactyl...and he knew he wouldn’t be able to play shrike to The Doctor’s starling. The pillow faded in importance then, and so he flung it across the room, hitting a side table and knocking an antique secretary lamp onto the floor.

 

A soft sobbing issued from the twins room, and it took Jack two whole minutes to realize they were crying. He slumped out of the black leather monster and sauntered off to their ‘childproof’ crib, where they hung like shaved gibbons, dangling from the bars, their heads turning in unison as he entered their abode.

 

“I’m guessing you two are hungry, right? Bout time you little time terrors wanted food. This is the first time since you were born that you’ve showed any interest in eating. I was beginning to think I was stuck in a bad remake of ‘ _Children of the Damned’_. Come here.”

 

He hefted one, then the other and carried them to where their ‘mother’ lay sleeping. What light, fragile things they were, so small, so delicate. So unnervingly wise. They never sullied themselves, never needed diapers. They never needed sleep, except for an hour a day, which they took at their leisure... hardly ever made a noise, until they needed food. But they hadn’t till now. What could it mean?

 

A soft moan dragged him back to himself, and he ran to the bedroom with the boys in his arms, being careful not to injure them on any furniture as he flew toward the sound. _Theta._ _Had he..._ when he reached the bed, the only obvious change was the smooth fingered hand brushing the floor. Nothing else, nothing... wait. He came close, concentrating on every little lack of movement, every barely drawn breath, every shallow rise of The Doctor’s chest. Then he saw it.

 

Across the alien’s slim chest, a dark stain was spreading, like the night sky over Boeshane. Oh no. _No no no no No_! How could he be injured? Had they missed a grub? He laid the twins on the bed beside The Doctor and reached for the hem of the overlarge pinstripe white shirt he’d dressed him in that morning. With one hand over, one hand beneath, he tackled the first button on the semi stiff shirt front, numb fingered and bleary eyed as he fumbled closer to the last four, which were hiding the source of the dampness. The damn stupid buttons wouldn’t come undone! Jack bit his lower lip to keep from screaming out a string of curse words, then looked over at the boys. They were gazing down at the Time Lord, nuzzling into his shoulder like newborn animals. He was going to lose him. Again. They all were. Suddenly his head lolled against his will and he sank onto The Doctor’s chest, sobbing silently, his upper body catching against a hard left nipple.

 

Hard? Why would Theta’s nipples be hard, if he was dying? Unless he wasn’t. Stupid. Brain dead. Time Agent.  Just rip the shirt off! Rip it off!

 

Grinning like a bedlamite, Jack tore open the shirt to examine the wet splotch of skin, popping the last four buttons into the four corners of the bedroom. The color of the stuff practically screamed -not blood-! Oh no. The fluid was a pale yellowish cream color, lukewarm and somewhat translucent. He stuck a finger in it, touched the digit to his lips and rolled it over his tongue.

 

“Ohh. Erm, let’s see... it’s... slightly sweet. Definitely not blood. A bit buttery... judging from that thick, full taste, it’s definitely nutrient rich... is that colostrum? It is! Hey!”

 

He smacked himself with the palm of his hand, then looked at the two infants, who had found the Doctor’s modest teats and thus were otherwise engaged.

 

“Milk, boys, milk! Oh. You already _found_ Daddy’s erm... breasts... Damn I was meaning to ask about those... Oh well, enjoy your first breakfast on the outside, boys. Ah.” He patted each one on the head and lay down beside his lover, hoping to steal a few quiet moments before the next disaster.

 

“If your father doesn’t wake up soon... ” Jack murmured as relief fed exhaustion washed away all thoughts of getting up for the day, “... I may just take up smoking. Nicotine free herbals, of course. I wouldn’t want to end up back on his naughty list...it might cast serious doubts on your getting a baby sister or two for Christmas.”

 

Jack allowed himself a small chuckle at his own expense, then settled in beside the Time Lord for a nap. But as he dozed, a vague shape in tatters moved across the lot behind his flat, heading for the lonely police box. One knock. Two knocks. An exasperated third echoed hollowly against the faded blue of the double wooden doors, till at last a key jangled loose from an alcove at the top after a few more here and there taps. Slim white fingers reached to retrieve the shiny thing from the wet ground, fitting it in the lock with ease. The doors opened. Then they closed again behind the newcomer, and a familiar, quiet whirring bubbled through the crisp air.


	9. Chapter 9

_“Where... do... th... n... borns... go... m... here?”_

 _“Where... do... th... n... borns... go... m... here?”_

 _“Where... do... th... n... borns... go... m... here?”_

 _“Where... do... th... n... borns... go... m... here?”_

 

 

“The signal’s getting stronger, sir! It’s coming from the sealed basement!”

 

“What? Not there again! Are the feeds back working yet? I want that intersection, now!”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

“Oh, sod it. I was afraid we’d missed something. Better send a detail down...wait.”

 

 _A glint of silver flared in the camera. A tiny pen shape shone on the floor not far from where The Doctor had taken ill. It was the sonic screwdriver._

  
“By God.  That’s his sonic! The Doctor’s sonic! How could we have missed that? He’ll never take tea with me again!”

 

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

 

“Oh all right. Permission granted, Misha. Carry on, then.”

 

“Well, I think that’s taking it a bit too far, sir. Shouldn’t we call his boyfriend, that Captain Harkness? He’s leading Torchwood, now... maybe he’d come round for it?”

 

“Splendid idea, Lieutenant! But, we’ve no word on whether The Doctor’s properly recovered yet. Remember the briefings on what happened the last time he was this unwell? He nearly didn’t regenerate. Got a bit of a push from another Time Lord, but from what I hear that can’t possibly happen now, or ever again. Sad thing, to lose him for good, what with those newborns and all. He’s the finest, bravest man alive, even if he is another species.”

 

“... Quite right, sir. I’ll contact the Captain presently. Shall I contact Doctor Jones as well? She may want to be apprised...oh!”

 

The signal from the Sonic becomes louder as earpieces and sound equipment are tweaked. Cameras all over the control room are zooming in on the slim probe, which is blinking blue.

 

 _“Where do the newborns go from here?”_

“Whatever does that mean? Someone tell me what that means!”

 

“No idea, sir! Perhaps it’s a data ghost?”

 

“Send someone down there to get it, then, Lambtree, maybe. He has a death wish anyways. We should notify Captain Harkness of this development. That message won’t play forever, I’ll wager, so use the Indigos and fetch him, The Doctor and those two adorable cherubs. Fetch Jones too, if she’s available, so we can keep an eye on The Doctor’s health and keep the tots in line.”

 

“Yes, sir. Oh! Hold on, sir! There seems to be another signal cutting in... wait! But that’s the... ”

 

“Out with it then, lad! What is going on? Show me the screen.”

 

“Sir! The TARDIS just materialized right behind The Doctor’s Sonic! See there? Oh! The doors! They’re opening! But who could it be? The Doctor is unconscious... ”

 

“Shut up and watch! We can’t do anything now. The bloody ship’ll be up and gone before we reach the lift. We’ll just have to wait until our alien science advisor recovers from his coma. Captain Harkness! Now! He ought to see this.”

 

A slim figure stepped out from the TARDIS’s blue double doors, in a black velvet cloak that clung to slight, uneven shoulders and a slender frame. One arm slid from the big square of fabric, dangling loose wires as if they were the tippets of a renaissance gown. The shaded head, hidden in the dark mushroom of the hood, turned then, tilting up toward a corner mounted camera, one red photoelectric eye gleaming out from the cowl’s wide berth.

 

“What? Oh, hello Colonel! Is that a scowl? Well, not to worry. I just came by for this!”

 

The voice was cool and peppery, like the spicy ding of glass on galvanized steel. It was also tinny, as though their uninvited speaker had been standing in a bit of piping. It was the Major’s voice. But the mind behind it... there was no mistaking that jovial arrogance, that... singular alien eccentricity.

 

“Quite right... now, I’m not going to ask how you came to inhabit the Major’s cybernetic body, Doctor. However, don’t you think you ought to be with your children, now? And that Captain of yours... he must be worried sick! How do you intend to reverse this?”

 

A shrug lowered the line of those lovely shoulders, and then the one hand lifted, lowering the deep hood to reveal a pale, dented mask of partially melted epidermal plating and pseudoskin. This half of her face had been reduced to barely humanoid slag, and parts of the cranial hull -which concealed the elongate, walnut mass of the Major’s remote cyberbrain- could be seen through the few strips of pseudoflesh still peeling from the surface.  

 

“This husk could do with a few repairs... but I don’t have time. I’ve got to pop back by our flat and check in on Jack and the children. Oh... ”

 

Hewaved the hand in the air, one pinkie dangling from a mass of spark spitting wires. “... and, uh... my body. The boys must be hungry... I really hope Jack had the presence of mind to set them at my breast... vestigial though it may be. Human males can breastfeed, too. Bet you didn’t know that, eh?”

 

The Major’s lips smiled thinly, a strange thing, as they had been quavering somewhat when The Doctor first started using them. Gingerly, he reached to touch his borrowed face with slender fingers beneath which hints of silver glinted like gold dust in a stream. There probably wasn’t anywhere on the cyborg’s body that wasn’t affected by the encounter with Lao-Tsen.

 

“Yep. Gonna have to tune these properly for you when everything’s settled. A few bangs here, a few tweaks there, a new flesh job, quality replacement parts, some technical improvements... that ought to fix you up quite nicely, Major. What do you say?”

 

The red eyes turned to the side, scanning for an answer from the ether. He didn’t need to turn them, but he did, for the sake of the UNIT members watching from the camera array.

 

 

This time the Major’s voice resounded in their ears.

 

“I look forward to a tune up from you, Doctor. You know I always appreciate your handiwork. But Jack sounded depressed. Shouldn’t we hurry?”

 

She withdrew her left hand from the long black coat, the fingers clean and free of mars or scratches. Perfect. Trapped together in one body, they were like two sides of a coin. One half was functional but in ruins, while the other half was near pristine, but inseparable from the affected side without loss of function. It seemed a kind of poetry, the sway of lagging steps, the dance of mechanisms struggling to remain in motion. They were a good team.

 

“Ah, before you go, Doctor... ”

 

The damaged eye stirred in its half-melted socket.

 

“Yes, Colonel?”

 

The Colonel could feel the piercing glare of that red photocell hold him in chains as though the Doctor stood there in his own flesh, his real, living body, instead of the twitching, dollish wire frame remnants of the Major’s metal one.

 

“Good luck to you both! And if we can help, you know the secret handshake, eh Doctor?”

 

 

“Good man. Oh! And in case you were wondering, I chose this cloak because it’s a classic. A right well handy duster, just perfect for lurking and acting mysterious! Course, you could say I borrowed the look from my old friend, Lady Cassandra, but... weeellll, you lot need not know about that. Anyway, it’s lovely, isn’t it? Conceals pretty much everything one might wish hidden on my kind of short notice.”

 

Then, the loosened fingers attempted an awkward, waggling flourish of wires and skin, and achieved it.

 

“And besides I’m not much to look at, at the moment. The Major, on the other hand... Well, I’ve got to get on with... things. Cheerio, then!”

 

Then he replaced the hood over the Major’s face, and her soft chuckle was the last sound that played before she spoke again, just as the Doctor guided her lame footed cybernetic shell through the blue double doors of his beloved TARDIS. 

 

“Colonel, a hint, from one soldier to another... this cloak doesn’t absorb light. It bends it, which is why you haven’t seen us on the evening news. In other words, he was putting you on.”

 

The Colonel beamed.

 

“So I gathered, Major, so I gathered. I’m only glad we could be of some small assistance to you both,” he said, and held a salute as the TARDIS began to depart, its signature whir a sharp, triplicate echo against the thick walls of the bomb shelter intersection.

 

“Well, lads, lasses... that was rather a bit of intrigue. Now could someone please get Harkness on the line? Jones? Anyone?”

 

“Well that’s just it, sir... we know he’s at home from surveillance, which he knows about of course, but still, we can’t get through. And Torchwood phoned in. They say Jones is off on assignment.”

 

“Well, that’s expected, what with the Captain off taking care of the family. Keep trying his flat. He’s bound to wake up some time. Why, when my children were that young, my wife and I were right bombarded with baby bottles and diapers and spit up and all kinds of lovely. Thought we were in for a second blitz, those first few years... ahhh. I imagine The Doctor’s babes might be somewhat better behaved, but they’re still infants. And infants need direction, discipline. They’re vulnerable. They need their parents’ support and care. I very much hope that The Doctor can come through this, for their sake at least. The Captain too.”

 

“Yes, sir. They’re both extraordinary men. Universe needs more of em.”

 

“Right you are, Sergeant. Right you are.”

 

“Shall I go retrieve Lambtree? He hasn’t reported back since you sent him down there, sir.”

 

“What? Oh dear... bring your ice gun, Misha. And round up some more willing participants. Something tells me we’re in for round two down below, and a few extra hands with displacers will be, well, handy. This will not proceed as it did a week ago.”

 

“Very good, sir. I have the rest of them on recharge, and the calls to Harkness are already on automatic... Thirdly, I left the Bomb Shelter schematics up, in case one of them pops back by. Will that be sufficient, sir?”

 

“It will have to be.”

 

Click.


	10. Chapter 10

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Clunk.

 

Jack’s hand slid off the broken alarm just as the clap light near his bed flared to blinding life. The damn thing could burn the color from his shrinking irises like a bucket of bleach to the face. Sticking a hand up to shield himself, he tried squinting through his fingers, attempting to see the numbers on the reddish Hotel Lea Monde hand clock hanging near the half closed door. A lost cause to begin with. Jack had to laugh then, because he could still recall the moment when the alien bought it, probably as a lark. He never quite knew just how much the Time Lord really saw. But, due to Rose’s gift of immortality, he had come closer to knowing than anyone left in this universe, and for that he was grateful. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he sat up in the double bed, being careful in his movements so as not to disturb The Doctor, who had been sleeping for a week in the exact same position. But that side of the bed... it bounced. It couldn’t bounce if there was weight on it, which meant that the Doctor was no longer in their bed. Jack felt his heart slow as he reached up to brush grit from his eyes and threw back the sheet. Someone had replaced the sheet over him in the night. Shrugging off the last shreds of sleep he fixed his attention on the empty space to his left. Had the Time Lord woken up? Jack hoped so. Otherwise...he slid a hand under his pillow and wrapped careful, itchy fingers around his sidearm, feeling very much of a mood to shoot something. Edging toward the door, he nudged it open with the gun barrel, then slipped through the widened gap into the den. There was a bulge in the black leather chair that had nothing to do with exposed springs or lost upholstery staples or shoddy workmanship. The chair was new. So what was it? Jack tiptoed over to the big thing, sticking his sidearm around in the pile of fabric, a shoeless wonder in jimjams and bare feet.

 

Suddenly the bundle of soft fabric moved, revealing a pale flash of smooth, downy flesh. Jerking the gun away from Adric’s tiny thigh, Jack shoved it back in his waistband, then covered the twins back up. It was someone’s cloak they were snuggled in, a huge, cheesy gothic costume piece of black velvet. But who’d left it there, and were they still in the flat? And where was Theta? Had he been carted off somewhere, or did he just wake up and decide to make breakfast as if the past week hadn’t happened? Gingerly he patted the small bulge of cloth in the chair, then quietly back-stepped to the door, casting his eyes around the room for surplus shadows. As he neared the kitchen, the one lit room in the flat besides the bedroom, the rakish tones of Kate Bush’s _‘Running Up That Hill’_ began drumming softly from the player. Someone was definitely in their flat, and that someone possessed the presence of mind to keep the volume low enough that it wouldn’t burst two dozing infants’ sensitive ears. For their sakes, Jack hoped it was Theta. Sucking in a silent breath, he slunk toward the light, hiding his presence in familiar shadows as he crept. From his vantage point behind the kitchen door, he could see the black leather chair easily. The twins were obviously enjoying the intruder’s taste in music, because they hadn’t slept longer than one hour a day since they were born, and the player must have been on before Jack had woken up. Besides, if they’d been given any kind of sedative, they wouldn’t have been sleeping at all. They would have been cold. Cold, rigid and... very dead. So he eased out from the safety of the door and strode into the kitchen with a single word on his tongue, laying on the swagger as he purveyed the room for sudden movements. But other than the pale overhead light, there lingered no sign of the trespasser. Absently he wondered why his _house guest_ had stopped at liberating his outfit for the day, instead of one of his many firearms. An olive tank, black trousers, black running shoes, a long black duster from his loner days that would serve till he got his favorite coat back. Even the pair of dark sunglasses he’d broken out from storage. Why those? Jack flipped the light off and checked the player, which had been set to repeat. No need to ruin a good thing... so he left it on. It would kick off by itself soon enough anyway, and the music might cover any shooting if he had to play cops and robbers with Mister Intruder. Planting a kiss on the barrel, he raised his gun slightly and walked toward the back door, reaching for the handle. There was something dark and sticky on the curve of the brushed chrome. With a sigh he brought a finger to his lips. Blackberry preserves... still slightly chill from being in the refrigerator.

 

“Elementary. Right.”

 

He slipped his fingers around the doorknob and jerked the door open, just in time to see the TARDIS dematerialize across the lot. Damn. Damn. Damn. Fury wasn’t a suitable word for what he was feeling. Backtracking to the bedroom they’d shared Jack scrambled across to the closet, wrenched the pull chain free of the naked bulb in one slow, calculated jerk as brightness blared out from the narrow space. Then he dragged a shoebox down from the top shelf. He had filched Martha’s Indigo that day on the Dalek flagship. That one act was why they hadn’t spoken for so long in the months before the attack on UNIT. She would kill him when he came back to work, but there was no longer time to worry about anything or anyone. There was only one thought drumming through his mind. _Save Theta Sigma._ What was the alien _doing_ going off and leaving like that so soon after waking up _?_ Had he finally lost it? With a last look at the twins, who were still sleeping, he punched in Ianto’s number, left a message for the Welshman to come take care of them. The Hub was in walking distance...

 

In anticipation of ramming his fist into the Time Lord’s delicate cheekbone, Jack’s fingers curled around the teleportation device commissioned by Project Indigo, caressing it. Then he settled the lanyard around his neck and pressed the button.

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

And pressed it again. And again. Again. Still nothing. Then, as he rubbed the device between finger and thumb, he noticed a sticky, peeling something under his hand. He turned it over, and almost dropped it to the floor when he saw what was there. A huge, yellow smiley face sticker was pasted there, sturdily attached to the silverish round with what looked to be several different kinds of industrial paste. And there was a message in fine black pen, written in the Time Lord’s eloquent, spidery hand.

 _I don’t think so, Jack. Did you honestly believe I didn’t know about this? Really, sweetheart, you’re getting lazy in your old age. Oh, and... go answer the door. Your friend the Welshman should be arriving just... about..._

A tapping at the door made him jump. That must have been Ianto. How Theta had managed that, well... he -was- a Time Lord. A Time Lord with a cell phone. The bastard. Jack swore to himself that when he saw the Doctor’s face next, he would make certain to kiss him hard enough to engage a lot more than that respiratory bypass system...after he threw him over his knee. One must always respect one’s elders. And that was only the _first_ lesson. Oh yes. Jack Harkness was about to steal a page from the Cheshire Cat and go Doctor hunting, Alice style. Now he just had to confirm the quickest route to the underground rift on the map that Ianto had brought him from the city sanitation department.

 

“Well, Ianto,” he called, grinning like his newfound patron saint as he met the Welshman at the door with a smile and a kiss, “... time for a trip down the Rabbit Hole. You didn’t mark the location of the Hub on here, did you, in case someone gets their hands on this? No? Good. I’m off to charge this thing, then. Don’t wait up.”

 

“Ah, Jack? Doesn’t it worry you?” Ianto mumbled, feeling his ability to concentrate dwindle in direct proportion to the nearness of Jack’s lips, “... I mean, he did call me first... that means he knew you would call me second, right?”

 

Jack Harkness just laughed and kissed him again. It was a good feeling.

 

“Nah. I’m more worried about what I’m going to do to him when I get there. Wish me luck!”

 

Another kiss, and Jack was out the door.

 

\---

 

Ianto smiled as the Captain’s retreating figure sprinted to a manhole and slid out of sight down its length. Then he closed the door, and turned to the twins, who were rousing in the chair, as the music had gone off.

 

“Well, now! Looks like uncle Ianto was just in time! Who wants a story?”

 

Two sets of frighteningly bright brown eyes blinked sleep away, then faced him as one, blank and sweet and probably fishing for any crack they could find in his Uncle persona.  

 

“Oh, I guess not. Bath then? No? Well, do you want to take over the world? You know your erm... the Doctor wouldn’t approve of that.”

 

That stopped them for a second. However was he going to survive an hour with these two, let alone a whole day?

 

“Yes, we know,” a soft voice muttered clearly.

 

Oh, grand... now he was hearing things.

 

“Simple. Just put the cd back on repeat. Mummy set it up for us. He _is_ a Time Lord, you know.”

 

The first had been Jamie, but this one was Adric. He had a way about him, a sort of look that... oh, dear.

 

“Did you just... I mean... but you’re only... ”

 

Ianto could feel the room narrowing around him. Time to hunt up Jack’s stash of spirits... He started off toward the kitchen.

 

“Infants, yes. We’ve been aware of that fact for a while, now. You know, you might want to check the upper cabinet,” Adric called out to him before snuggling back down into the cloak with his brother, “... and consider yourself lucky. We don’t talk for Daddy yet. It’s much more fun to do what Mummy says and play ‘look at us we’re stupid.’ You won’t tell, will you?”

 

Had that been worry in his tone?

 

Ianto bit back a snicker.

 

“Don’t you worry your little heads. Uncle Ianto won’t say a word. I do hope I get to meet your mother before he leaves, though. He sounds quite nice!”


	11. Chapter 11

Motoko watched in silence as the Doctor fitted his slim fingers to the TARDIS console.

 

“Thank you again for this body, Doctor. Though, I imagine I’ll have trouble explaining it to Section Nine, should I happen to stop by. Batou will be hard pressed not to ogle me if I join him on any future missions.”

 

“Hm?” came the trailing, absentee comment from the central cylinder, “... oh, that. Don’t worry about that, Motoko-kun. Humankind won’t have anything _near_ the technology required to analyze microcosmic nano hulls until at least, oh...year four billion five thousand six hundred and fifty seven point six five two or so. So, no worries, eh?”

 

He never looked up, not once.

 

“And besides, the last time I checked, Batou-san was quite the gentleman. Takes after me a bit, that one.”

 

A burgeoning smile threatened to stretch across her teeth then, pushing against her new lips, and she let it emerge, like a butterfly from a chrysalis. She wasn’t about to let him change the subject. She’d known him too long, half a century at least, if not more.

 

“Won’t that harm you in the long run? Or is that device near you a reductive modulator of some kind?” she asked, shifting her new artificial muscles in idle contemplation of his task.

 

“I hope the Captain’s friend gets there soon. I’d hate to think what would happen to those twins yours if they didn’t connect.”

 

The Doctor’s head shot up in a cloud of ginger, his face flush with golden light. He glistened with it, gleaming with tiny flecks of gold as though his pale flesh were floured in gold dust. Soon, before his lids could drift open, his long, poetic hands found the black sunglasses he’d stuck on a large lever. They lifted in his hands, farther and farther until finally he was able to find the bridge of his nose and push them up enough to cover his face. He cracked his neck from side to side, then stepped away from the console and spun to grab up his black duster.

 

“They won’t. There are certain subsonic tones I’ve added to that soundtrack that will insure they stay safe and asleep, and they’ll keep anyone from turning it off that shouldn’t be fiddling with it.  Still, it’ll be fun playing at crossness, with Jack. Always is. Are we ready to go, then?”

 

He sounded cheerful, clipped. His tone was so loose that someone who didn’t know him would never have caught it. He was that good... except she knew what he had been doing there at the open console slot beneath the tube. He had been communing with the TARDIS, borrowing some of Her strength, much like his precious Rose had done. She suspected he didn’t realize she knew, but then again, the man was a hedge maze lined with mirrors when it came to showing emotion. Though, she could always tell when he wasn’t trying very hard to hide them, because he _did_ try. Of course, the fact that he was allowing her to notice practically screamed of that long denied reality, otherwise he would have left her back at the flat to manage Jack. He needed her, needed her presence and support, namely because he’d just absorbed a huge amount of Vortex Energy, enough that without the help of the adaptive module he’d installed on the console and connected to the glasses, he would have been dead before he could have taken those two steps toward the coral entwine where he’d draped his coat. For his sake, she settled the duster on his shoulders, and then they were off, out of doors and sprinting across the grassy knoll that led to the UNIT HQ compound.

 

It was back to the fence, back to the main building’s subbasement. There, they would find the second polymorph, a barren female. He’d already briefed her. They travelled in pairs and were quick to learn speech, being naturally adept at infiltration and assimilation. Once a target society had been breached, they would then commence the rounding up of those few unlucky natives who would serve their purposes for food and breeding until a proper settlement had been established. But these two were desperate, the last of their kind. And the female surely knew of the male’s capture by now.

 

“Be careful, Doctor. I wouldn’t want to see a repeat of last time.”

 

But he just smiled and waved her on.

 

“Don’t be daft. Why do you think I brought these?”

 

His hand brushed the shades he wore, sleek, black, light drinking lenses formed of carbon nanotubes altered to filter and collect any huon particles that bled through his defenses. Theoretically, combined with the receptive/projective modulator back on the TARDIS, they would keep the excess huon from damaging his body long enough for him to convince the Polymorph it was wrong. Or, at least stop it from doing any harm to itself or anyone else. He would talk her in, draw her close enough, then feed her tidbits about what happened with the male, Lao-Tsen. Then, when she grew enraged, he would focus the huon on her body, timelocking her polymorphic capabilities until she surrendered. Yes. The plan was pristine, perfect in its simplicity. Their footsteps echoed down the halls, one after the other, white on white on white on white... the sounds of battle were drawing closer, and he could just feel the scintillating waves from the makeshift displacers as UNIT withdrew back into the intersection where they’d captured Lao-Tsen the week before.

 

“At least it’s not the Ice-Capades anymore!” he ventured brightly, trying for cheerful again in the midst of all the soldiers scurrying about their duties like ants in the nest.

 

“Hello me lads! Lasses! Wouldn’t want to discriminate, some of my best mates are female, but anyway! Did you miss me?” he beamed as several bereted heads turned to see who’d spoken.

 

“... 'cause honestly, that’s stellar. Oooh, that’s lovely, I should have t-shirts done.”

 

Before anyone could breathe he had swept into the fray, stooping briefly to pick up an overheated displacer.

 

“Let’s see now, a little of this, a little of that!”

 

Golden light burst out from his fingertips, infusing the gun.

 

“All right now! You all should retreat to a safe distance. I’ve _got_ this. That’s an order.”

 

The weapon then disappeared, and abruptly reappeared in the Major’s hands with a tidy little _< pop>._ __

_“Think you can handle this temporal diffuser, Motoko? As you can see, I’ve quite a bit of Time on my hands.”_

 

Immediately her presence made itself known within the modified internal uplink he’d given her.

 

 _“Of course. Tell me, Doctor... do you rehearse those, or do they just come to you?”_

 

\---

 

“Sir!”

 

The word mirrored itself in several throats; soon every mouth was voicing it. He smiled as UNIT members on all sides of the intersection found him with their eyes and saluted amidst the cloud of swinging ice rifles. The whole of UNIT reminded him of a group of itchy turret minders on holiday at a fairground shooting game.

 

 _“I have my moments. Allons-y.”_

 

He set a finger to his sunglasses, then dropped out of the uplink to speak to the crowd.

 

“All right, you lot! Fall in behind the Major and let’s get things going! Haven’t got all day! These shades’ll only work for an hour or so, and then the artron I’ve stored in my body will begin to affect me, which means that soon after that, it’ll be affecting you. __Not an option._ _ We have to clean this mess up before that happens, before it forces me to regenerate. Soo! Who’s with me?”

 

A line of UNIT soldiers fell in behind him. The Colonel. Private Blackburn. Captain Harris. Sergeant Lambtree, with his bandaged shoulder and Lieutenant Misha with her prosthetic leg. They held there, hands on their displacers, while still others lined up behind them.

 

“This is still a no kill situation, people. Proceed with caution,” the Colonel called out, signaling to Misha, who moved up the line with her displacer at the ready to join him.

 

They both stood closest to the Doctor, now. His blue smoke eyes were fixed on them both, studying, weighing every moment of their lives in the glass of their gazes.

 

“A man after my own hearts,” said the alien simply.

 

Then he turned to the Lieutenant and gently took her arm.

 

“You. Come here.”

 

She just looked at him, unblinking. She didn’t move.

 

Everyone stopped. All eyes were on her now, and she knew why. They thought she was the Polymorph.

 

“Lieutenant Misha! The Doctor is your superior. Why aren’t you moving?”

 

The Colonel was stepping back from her, tossing his grey eyes back and forth between The Doctor and the woman he was no longer certain he knew. The lines of soldiers followed, leveling their displacers at her head and feet while they retreated to a point some three meters back. Then, as footsteps halted behind her, she realized that The Doctor and herself were the only ones left in the middle of the intersection. Her friends and colleagues were casting a dragnet around them both, to prevent her from escaping should she prove herself their quarry. They covered every side, every exit, like bloodhounds on a fox, circling the tree.

 

Suddenly the Doctor’s grip tightened on her arm, not enough to cause pain, but... gingerly, just enough to let her know. As if she hadn’t already.

 

“I think you need to get something off your chest,” he murmured, smiling at her warmly despite the black sunglasses.

 

They were still covering most of his eyes, but had slid down his nose when he’d grabbed her wrist.  There was golden light behind the opaque lenses, and she could almost see it as that same opaqueness seemed to drain him of it hungrily. Still, the gold kept gleaming from his eyes, flowing like honey around him. Could the others not see it yet? No. A human’s eyes were only capable of a narrow range of color vision... but being who she was, she could see the huon particles streaming around him in waves, ribboning off with every movement as if his whole bioelectric field were bleeding solar flares. The glasses, she had long since gathered, were keeping him alive, controlling the flow to prevent it from escaping and destroying him. He would regenerate, if that happened. This alien, this... Lord of Time... had traveled, seen, done things with his mind and his hands as would guide nations, destroy planets, save lives... or end them. And now he was standing in front of her, warm. Gentle. Patient. Misha could feel the life in him, flowing, ebbing, flowing, the space around his supple body like a veil of sunlight. But, soon the makeshift filter would cease to function, and he would be at the mercy of his own power. And hers.

 

“You... are a very strange man, Doctor. Even for a Time Lord,” she said softly, making subtle changes to the bones in her wrist, just enough for him to feel it.

 

That tiny movement would prove her polymorphic nature to him, force him to act.

 

But he just stood there, patient, waiting for her, his thumb on her ‘pulse’ point, as if she were truly what she seemed. What was that massive brain of his getting up to behind those light-eating shades?

 

Then he spoke again, and the huge room seemed to narrow as if the intersection was made of tiny straws instead of steel and concrete.

 

He nodded, and tipped her a sweet little childish grin.

 

“You regret all of this, and not just, don’t you?” the Time Lord said, opening his arms to her, inviting her aggressions on himself.

 

“I... want you to kill me.” The words left her mouth, and she let herself emerge as she truly appeared, a marblesque mannequin of watery silvers and blues, streaked through with little cloudy veins of muddy red.

 

The Doctor looked her over, scanning her glistening fluidic mass, noting the red splotches marring her silvery essence.

 

“You’re dying, then. I thought that might be why when I first touched the blue slime trail your brother left. It held early traces of the virus, which was why I had trouble in the first place. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? Well, I can do something about that, I think. Give me a second to deliberate with my former selves.”

 

One slender hand was stroking his chin now, as the wizened lie of youth that was his gaze smoothed in careful thought, then dove behind the black glasses. Just as suddenly, in less than a breath the golden orbs poked above the lenses again, eager for a rematch with the here and now.

 

“Bah. Self debate is overrated. I know I can help. I’m a genius. Now, just relax. You may feel a bit... tingly.”

 

He reached for her, the closeness of his flesh invading her intimate space. Then he stroked her watery cheek with a finger, faintly drawing the digit across the surface of her membranous ‘skin’, as a child might set a paper boat adrift in a tide pool, guiding it gingerly around the tiny rocks and shoals.  His other hand raised, and suddenly she felt the golden aura make its circuit through her vitreous shape, energizing her core, her extensions, lifting years of sickness from her cells. He was making her whole. The red was disappearing... she could feel the disease melt away under his touching, under his care.

 

“Why?” she whispered as the last of the reddish haze left her fluid-body.

 

This drew another, slighter smile from the Time Lord, who had yet to back away and examine his handiwork. “Why not? _Bibamus, moriendum est._ You can thank Seneca the Elder, a human, for that bit. And, ohh, my head.”

 

He raised a shaking hand to his face, knocking the dark glasses from his eyes. They were closed, and his thin ginger brows had thrown themselves together above the fingers he’d pinched on the bridge of his nose. The sunglasses shattered on the floor, and he paid them no heed.

 

She formed a thin tendril and sent it toward them, reaching, wanting to pick them up for him. But he only shook his head at her.

 

“Don’t worry about those. They were only a harmless set piece, a bit of psychodrama for our friends the earthlings. Besides, they stopped working five minutes ago.”

 

A larger smile, and then he was back to spewing gold from every pore and wincing.

 

“This must have been what poor Rose felt like when she looked into the TARDIS... terribly painful, this. Hrm. Much more and I’ll have to regenerate... and then it’ll be Christmas with the Sycorax all over again, with the shivering and the fever and the hearts stopping and all of that, sans Rose, Jackie Tyler’s Christmas dinner and those nifty party favors. And no wrapped biscuits. Wrapped biscuits! The kind that you pull and you get a party hat and a little holiday message and then the biscuit? Only this time round, I’m stuck with no party hat, no paper, no yummy biscuit. No Rose. Not fun. I will admit to being a bit of a turkey, though.”

 

The Doctor forced his head up, meeting eyes with everyone. Golden streams of light were leaking down his face like tears. The light was filling him, killing him, eating him despite itself.

 

“You know, she can’t help it really, my TARDIS. It’s... not like she wants to... harm me... she just... she just... can’t... do anything about... Oi! What’s that?”

 

A flash had erupted where the refrigeration unit had stood the week before. Jack Harkness stood there now, holding up an Indigo Device with what looked to be... a smiley face sticker on the back? He was stomping toward them...

 

“Theta! You damn alien! I fix the Indigo you found, figure out where you’ve gone and this is how you repay me? By dying? What the hell? I’m coming, right now! You just... well... stay there! And don’t you _dare_ regenerate till I get to you!”

 

Misha the Polymorph retracted her slim tentacle and drew herself up.

 

“You are his lover. Forgive me. He... did this for me. Please do not be angry with him.”

 

Jack looked at the woman as he neared them, seeing her for what she was. “His decision. Good enough. Now move. I have to see him.”

 

The Time Lord was on his knees, his head shaking, limbs and torso quivering with the effort of holding up his slight frame.

 

 “Ah, Jack! Won’t be... long now, eh? Remember the last time, on the Game Station? Oh, those were the days! Ngh.”

 

The slightest of groans twisted his face, and then he swayed and crumpled sideways onto the floor, seeping gold into the air like streams of blood steam, his very molecules suffering and querulous and bleeding life. His eyes found Jack across the intersection, and he shoved out a hand toward the Time Agent, who was running.

 

“Jack, Me, he’s coming! Jack, you have to kill me! Kill me now! Somebody, please, _Killlll Meeeeee!_ ”

 

Gold filled the room, burning faces, flaring outward from his body as darkness welled from him, shoving against the golden light that was struggling to escape. It was over, over for everyone. Then the Doctor sat up.


	12. Chapter 12

“Miserable apes.”

 

Those same thin lips, those same blue eyes like smoke... they were staring at Jack with something akin to malice.

 

“This body is nice, though. I think I’ll keep it. So sorry.”

 

A grin flashed across the Time Lord’s face, and Jack felt the urge to throw up.

 

“Who the hell are you? You’re not Theta! Who are you?”

 

Someone screamed. Then the woman thing touched Jack’s shoulder, and he realized that he had.

 

The man in Theta’s skin just laughed and flung a hand wide, encompassing everything.

 

“Oh, do you miss him already, little human boy? And I see you’ve dipped your cup into the well of gold. How nice of the clingy little slut to accommodate you. Well. Enough of that.”

 

He bowed to Jack, then turned to face the UNIT soldiers.

 

“Hello, you hairy monkeys with guns, I am the Valeyard. Your precious Doctor’s shadow, if you will. I don’t intend to let him back out, so none of that annoying blind heroism you lot are so damn fond of, or I shall be forced to... oh... I don’t know. Surely your tiny troglodyte brains can deduce that much, at least. I mean really, it’s just so elementary, Watson.”

 

He strode toward Jack, who just stood there, watching him like a snake about to sink fangs into a rat.

 

“Hello, Watson. You always were an idiot, even in the books.”

 

Suddenly a movement from the left caught their attentions, and the Major stepped out from the shadows of that area’s corridor. Her slender lips, deep white now, moved to speak, and the words that followed were the sweetest utterance Jack had ever heard.

 

“Not so fast, you body-stealing opportunist. If you’d actually read the books, as I have, you’d have known that Holmes never actually said that to Watson. Plus, they were very good friends, a lovely sort of Bromance, really. Met Sir Arthur the author, after my sixth regeneration. Yup. Right after I met you, give or take a few years. Course, you didn’t know that, being the Boneyard. The Junkyard? The Scrapyard? Oh, oh I know! How about you bein’ a stand-in? I’ve always been fond of that one, for you. Does you too much justice, it does. In any case, _en garde!_ ”

 

The glasses were in her hand, and some sort of connection wire was plugged into them, stretching from a small port behind her lovely ears. Then her fingers crushed them easily, leaving little flecks of black on the floor. With that, the thin cord slid back safely into its slot at her neck, which was already closing. Suddenly, a voice streamed through the uplink into her internal cochlear mechanism. _“You’re paying for damages. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be here.”_

 _“Of course. I_ am _a gentleman, after all,”_ the Doctor answered her quickly, sparing a laugh for those not using an artificial body with hyperlink capabilities.

 

“Oh! Ah, the Major was just telling me to avoid destroying her new body. I mean, I created it for her especially after she junked the last one this past week at my request, so... turnabout and what.”

 

He tossed her head, flinging the sharp front piecing of her jagged black-violet bob into place alongside her temples. She’d asked for blue eyes, like his, only in a pale sky hue rather than his own dark smoky shade.

 

A flash of muddy gold popped behind him, and suddenly the Valeyard’s voice was in his ear. _His_ voice.

 

“I do hate to interrupt your conference call, but some of us have better things to do, like oh... spreading chaos, fostering fear and loathing among the masses, devising new Mcmindgames to put on my dollar menu... wait. Damn you! Get out of my head this instant, you inept fool!”

 

The Doctor smiled, curving the Major’s lips in so small a motion that even Misha couldn’t follow it.

 

“You first.”

 

He and the Valeyard both took a step, spewing words of music at each other in countless voices. Then they took another step toward each other, then another. And another. And another, until they were almost touching. The Doctor held out his hands to grasp The Valeyard’s head, and The Valeyard in turn, grasped the Major’s bright skin in the same two places, their fingers at each other’s temples.

 

“So. It’s Telepathy Battle, is it? Sounds like something off that American cooking channel... Top Chef, was it? You surprise me, Theta.”

 

The Doctor watched the Valeyard continue to taunt him through the Major’s eyes. He almost felt sorry for the barmy git, because while The Valeyard would eventually tire, he, Theta Sigma, would not. Not while he inhabited the Major’s body. Then the Major’s voice cut in again, interrupting his thought. __

_“Just make sure he doesn’t steal it out from under your nose, Doctor.” I don’t relish the thought of spending a millennia wearing one of those Baka tees.”_

“Ohhh! Sorry Major! You meant those I’m with Stupid T-Shirts! Sorry!” he cried aloud, slapping a slender female hand to his face to hide a snigger as his borrowed mechanical eyes threw innocent needles at his stolen body’s unrepentant lodger.

 

“Oh, and my dear Lord of the Fries... I’ll have you know that I am a very accomplished gourmet. Course I _do_ like my chips... ”

 

He thrust his eyes upward, turned a half step, then began tap one foot, as if listening to an internal musical score.

 

“You’d be surprised how many songs there are about chips... about, oh... well let’s see now... one, two, four thousand, five trillion, oh bollocks I lost count. Try again. Right! Here we go, ah... one, two, three... ”

 

The Valeyard’s arm moved, flinging bruised gold toward the crowd of soldiers that stood in a huge ring around them. Then, one by one, thermal displacers began to skirt toward the Major, until every rifle was leveled at her.

 

“Enough, Theta Sigma. Let us discard formality and begin this.”

 

<Huff>

 

“Are you telling me I’m not being serious?”

 

The Doctor sent those pale blue eyes knifing toward the soldiers and their guns, distaste playing a faint, unsubtle chord across the delicate line of his borrowed mouth.

 

“Au contraire, monsieur. Allons-y.”

 

Turning back to the Valeyard, he snapped his fingers. It was such a tiny sound, but when its echo traveled back to him, the displacers weren’t focused on him any longer. The rifles had dropped to the ground in pieces, the soldiers slumping to the floor as Theta Sigma swept the Major’s gaze calmly over them.

 

“Now that you’ve proved your worth as an au pair, can we get down to it?”

 

“Well why haven’t you? I’ll be here when you finally decide.”  

 

The Doctor sank down gracefully onto the white floor, one hand holding up the Major’s chin, as her lips parted in a grin like a geisha’s soft giggle.

 

“ _Mighty Quinn!_ Now _that_ was a song and a half... or was it a quarter?”

 

He blinked her sky blue eyes, batting her eyelashes at his usurper.

 

“Enough of your games! Your last two lives belong to me, Doctor!”

 

The Valeyard lashed out then, using Theta’s slender mouth to spew tendrils of muddy gold toward the Doctor. The Time Lord made no effort to dodge, instead he held the Major’s cyber body loosely in place, balancing on one slim knee and one delicate, muscular leg as the tendrils of sickly gold came closer. There were so many...

 

Jack watched in horror as spike after spike of dead gold thrust into the Major’s metal husk, pumping something out with every writhing undulation. They seemed as though they were... drawing the Doctor out of his hiding place.

 

Once every slender, sucking rootlet had retracted, the Major, herself again, herself alone, leaped to life, double somersaulting backward, away from the Valeyard and his disembodied captive.

 

Suddenly the Valeyard doubled over, grabbing his/Theta’s head, clawing as bright gold spilled into his mouth and nose and ears, filling him, pushing him out.

 

“Thanks for the memories, Valeyard, but really, you being a memory you should know better than to try and do that sort of thing,” the Doctor said softly, and the words were from his own lips, his own mind.

 

Jack heaved his relief out in a thick, heavy sigh.

 

“Now what?”

 

Thinly smiling, the Doctor gazed up at the Valeyard, who was floating like an angry storm just in front of him, having been reduced to a muddy golden cloud in the aftermath of their battle. The memory was still in shock... which meant there was enough time for what he’d planned.

 

“Jack.”

 

He breathed the name into the man’s thoughts, telling him what to do. So Jack did as he was told and skip-tossed the Indigo Device beneath the Valeyard Cloud. Then The Doctor entered Misha’s mind, and instructed her as to what he wanted, as well as how and why and when he wanted it. Lackies briefed and prepped, he turned his face upon the cloud again, to allow The Valeyard speech.

 

“What do you think you’re doing? I’ll never let you survive this! Then again... ”

 

The cloud formed a pallid, eyeless face and swam about to stare at the soldiers.

 

“Why don’t I make nice with them instead?”

 

With horrible speed The Valeyard flew toward the members of UNIT that were gathered in a loose ring around the intersection, aiming to make them obey, make them suffer, make them... no longer themselves.

 

But Misha was running, faster than any human, while The Doctor lined his sprinting form up with the Indigo Device on the floor. Then he leaped, catching it with one foot and sliding alongside Misha, who was changing form as she moved. In an impossible maneuver, he slid beneath the cloud and skidded to a stop in front of the soldiers like a professional snowboarder, even flipping the Device up with a foot and his unused momentum so he could catch it with a backhanded slice of the wrist. Then, with a naughty smirk worthy of Jack Harkness at his most...indecent, he pitched the thing into the air just as Misha reached him.

 

“Twin wakizashi, now!”

 

Instantly the polymorph dissolved and reconstituted, separating into two narrow Japanese style blades, the slight hilts tied by a long, winding cord of red silk. As they tumbled tip over hilt toward The Doctor’s waiting hands, Jack saw them well enough to notice just how closely they resembled the real thing, bound with zigzagged leather strips and iron pins, gleaming through the tarnish of good use as though tempered in ancient fires. Well, when he and the Time Lord got home, they were definitely going to stoke some flames...

 

The Doctor twisted up like a dancer to catch his prize and then his hands blurred in motion, crossing the twin swords together with a decisive _< clang!>_ just inside his own telepathic barriers, the triplicate resonance of his own field, the metal of the blades and The Valeyard’s consciousness created a hyperspatial ultrasonic wave, slamming the mad Time Lord backward into the Indigo Device. Only a single, derisive cackle was heard as the thing glowed once, twice, and then settled into complacent quiescence. Soon after, Misha returned to her former shape, spilling out of the Doctor’s hands onto the white floor, in a scene reminiscent of _The Waterbearer_.

 

“Glad that’s over, aren’t we, Theta?” Jack said, coming over and clapping a gentle hand around the Time Lord’s shoulders.

  
But the Doctor didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

 

“I have to do something... difficult, now, Jack. Please leave me be, otherwise I could disrupt my entire timeline, and bring the Reapers down on our heads for it. As the only Time Lord left, I know I’ve not the strength to deal with them properly. Especially after... this. So please... just go away.”

 

There was still a hint of gold playing about his edges. Jack watched him make the effort to gather it, shape it to his will, focus it into a lens above their heads. The Time Lord snapped his fingers again, and the lens showed space, a planet, clouds. Mountains of silver and fields of red grass. Then, soundless and destitute before that vision, he tossed the Indigo Device casually through the gap.

 

“I said leave me alone, Jack,” he warned, sensing the shadow of Jack’s footsteps behind him.

 

“That’s Gallifrey, isn’t it, Theta Sigma? Good god, it’s beautiful. I’m so sorry.”

 

The Time Lord straightened, took a deep, hard breath, then turned away from the collapsing temporal lens.

 

“Don’t, Jack. Just don’t.”

 

His voice was cracked and barely a whisper, like wheat sheaves crushed in the field by storm thrown rocks. There was no life in him, nothing, just... that face. The face he was hiding. The face of defeat.

 

“I hated it there. And now I can’t go back. It’s Time Locked, like I told you before. The only reason... uhg. The only reason I was able to do what I just did was because I still had a bit of vortex energy left.”

 

With a double crack of his neck, he turned to gaze at the crowd again, puppy faced and full of happy lies once more.

 

“Who wants a lesson in Venusian Aikkido? Or any Aikkido, for that matter? Consider it a freebie coz I’m feeling generous.”

 

“What sort of generous?”

 

“Jack. Harkness.  Not. Another. Word.”

 

Suddenly the Major was behind him, rubbing his shoulders as though his body hadn’t already flushed the lactic acid from the sinew.

 

“Uh, you can’t have those they’re mine?” Jack mock whined, but The Doctor just stayed him with a hand and shook his head.

 

“Relax, Jack,” Theta said, arching into the Major’s hands, “... she’s my erm... what is it, what is it... ah! My sparring partner. A dear friend? A comrade? Not available? Oh I give up. But whatever she is, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

 

Riiiight.

 

Then Jack Harkness watched the two of them cross to the middle of the huge room. They were going to do it. Right there, in the middle of the intersection, with all of UNIT watching! He sat down on the floor, wishing he had some Ianto... and maybe some popcorn and a decent lager. This was going to be good.


	13. Chapter 13

_< klack!>_

There was sweat on The Doctor’s green tank. He was smiling. But it was a cold smile, a smile of concrete premise that belied nothing of the man beneath. And the Time Lord was running now, ducking punches, swerving easily to avoid the Major’s kicks as if they were insects to be swatted.

 

“What’s wrong, Motoko-kun?” he called, twisting out of reach of her foot again as they sprang apart, “... you’re not even trying!”

 

“Neither are you, Doctor. But I wouldn’t want to abuse an old man!”

 

Her perfect foot lashed out again, catching his cheek and whipping his hair. She balanced on her toes, waiting for him to come up for air.

 

He grinned, his mouth curving like a hungry cat’s as he pinned her leg behind her back and sent her sprawling. His hand spun, turning palm up in readiness to move as she leaped askance to avoid crashing into a support column. The cut on his face had already healed.

 

“They’re taking bets on us, you know!” the Doctor called out as he back flipped away from her double kick and landed in a crouch, one leg flung to the side,  “... who are you gunning for? Me or that wall? Do try to get one in sometime today, Major. I have mouths to feed later on!”

 

Kusanagi dropped low as well, sprawling like a spider as she watched him, both of them searching for weaknesses. Of course there were none. Just how she liked it.

 

“Milk-hard nipples can be sensitive. I suppose that, to be fair, I’ll have to avoid them!”

 

“Oh please! You and I both know that the nipple twister is a totally ineffectual maneuver. It does nothing for the sport and is completely useless. It was only invented because the imbecile who thought it up was having a hard time in gym class bullying the other kids! Don’t insult my considerable intelligence!”

 

The Time Lord bent back in a sway of ginger hair, circling with his body as he ducked her jump kick and caught her thigh between his hands, sending her careening off to his left. He flitted away, his footwork feral like hers as they both leaned into their motions and avoided each other’s high kicks, then twisted around and met in a shin to shin block.

 

“True, but how will you explain the bruised ribs to Martha?”

 

“What?” he called out, but then Kusanagi flipped him with a quick scissor twist.

 

His side struck the floor, and a loud snap signaled the end of the match.

 

“Oh. Those. Urgh. Well, all right. Enough for now. Just don’t tell her.”

 

He was still griping when Jack reached them.

 

The Major was smiling as she knelt and stuck out a slender hand.

 

“You would have won if you hadn’t been distracted, Doctor. Want me to help set that?”

 

“Maybe.  Oh, but bollocks, I’m old! You went easy on me!”

 

“No. Sorry to disappoint you.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“Still no.”

 

“Don’t believe it. Sorry.”

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

“Liar liar pants on fire. Harkness don’t say anything.”

 

The Time Lord’s finger waggled itself at the man, who proceeded to blink and look up at the ceiling. Rassilon but Jack was handsome. Too handsome. Damn him, and damn his 51st century pheromones.  Willing his respiratory bypass system to take over so his rib could heal, Theta pushed himself up and took hold of their arms to try and straighten the rest of the way without falling over himself like a frosh at fight club.

 

“Now you see, kiddies?” he murmured as the three of them strode carefully toward the UNIT soldiers, all of whom had gathered in a corner to place bets, “... violence never solves anything.”

 

The manic half grin on his face was enough to incite them to fits of snickering, and occasionally a burst of laughter rose from the small crowd, forcing him to hold his injury to keep from doing it himself.  

 

“And Major,” he added, looping a hand around her muscular, feminine shoulders to hold himself up, “I am always grateful for our little chats. Many thanks, as always, for letting me bibble on. You keep this old man young.”

 

She stopped then, looking at him as if for the first time. Had he surprised her? She thought perhaps he had, and knew it.

 

“Of course, sir. It was my pleasure. Same time next year?”

 

He nodded, then leaned his head on Jack’s shoulder as they both helped him onto the lift.

 

First Misha and then the soldiers filed in, respectfully allowing him a wide berth due to his injured side, and as the doors closed behind them, he bleated loudly, “Sooo! Who was betting against me? I _know_ you were doing it. Come on. Give over!”

 

“Sorry sir, that’s classified...” someone snorted under their breath.

 

He didn’t recognize the voice.

 

“Good thing I’m a pacifist, then.”

 

‘Why’s that good, sir?”

 

“Why, he says. You mean besides the massive intellect, the smashing good looks, the telepathic powers? Besides the spiffing Blue Box that can take you almost anywhere? Oh, this is just a hunch, but I’d wager you haven’t any idea why I’m a pacifist, do you, Private?”

 

“Erm, no sir.”

 

“Well, I’ll tell you. But I’ll wager you won’t like it. See, my people are from Gallifrey, nice planet, not big on tourists, lots of pretty toys! I like toys. Especially ones made of metal... and beautiful sunsets. Doesn’t everyone? Rassilon but those suns were something to see in the Gallifreyan dusk! But the thing is, there was a War between us and the Daleks... and after my exile here had been officially declared over, I returned home and became President. Then, some time later when I stepped down from that horribly boring post, my erm... former lady friend... Romanadvoratrelundar _-who was only one hundred and something at the time I was saddled with her;I was nearly four hundred, thank you-_ took over. As in, the friend who got better grades than me at Academy, took over. Oh dear did I just admit that, well I really don’t care anymore. It’s been too long... leastways, to make a long story short... well short _er_ , they asked me back to save them from themselves and the damn Daleks, and then they asked me the cruelest thing of all. They asked me to destroy Gallifrey. _And I did it._ I’d do it again, too.  Most of my people were naturally pacifist anyhow, though as I recall I do have a bit of human blood on my mother’s side. Yes, you heard me. I’m part human. Lovely woman, my mother. Bollocks, where was I? Oh yes. I think that answers your question, Private. Now run along before I change my mind and decide to wipe yours. Erm... I didn’t... I didn’t know so many bodies could fit in such a small lift.”

 

The Doctor sagged against Jack, feeling his vision start to narrow into a tube, like it had when he’d delivered the twins. Grimly, he forced a smile and turned to look at the soldier, who had fallen silent.

 

“Sorry, oh I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to take my flashback out on you. Wasn’t your fault. No ones’ fault really, but tell that to my head.”

 

A sudden painful panic clutched him, and Jack could feel him shaking inside, struggling to keep it deep so the others wouldn’t see.

 

“It’s all right, Doctor. Payback’s an old... you know. Just relax. It’ll go away.”

 

“Quite all right, sir.”

 

Was the soldier trying to comfort him? Oh, that was just...wizard. The poor child. And on it went.

 

“If it’s what you need. Just go ahead. Do your worst, sir.”

 

“Huh. The bodies? Oh they never do. They just fade in and out, like heat waves on the hood of a car. Speaking of cars... I wonder where my good old Bess is now... always liked that car. She was a classic, she was! A... a classic... Oh, yes.... the Brigadier and I were quite a pair, in those days.”

 

With a sigh, he ran a hand through his long hair, playing with the ginger length as though he were a five year old girl tugging at her itchy dress, dead set on fidgeting in the pews on church day.

 

Jack felt the air rush from his lungs. How long had this... how long had this...

 

“Too long, Jack,” the Time Lord said softly, looking pale even in the dim lights of the lift.

 

They were almost to the top. How dense could he have been to think he’d ever known fear before this? Jack chided himself dumbly as he struggled to turn away from the Time Lord’s empty, swallowing gaze.

 

“I look around myself, and all I see are the bodies. Children. Parents. Siblings. Piles and piles of Gallifreyan flesh, quivering with the mindless horror of steely rigor mortis. They’re always here. I can see... I can see them now. All... all around me. They’re suffocating me. The smoke is suffocating me. They regenerate uncontrolled, wasting life after life until all that’s left of my entire race is naught but ash blowing through scorched fields. Burns mark my flesh as I stagger to the TARDIS. I mean to die, but it is not to be, because I’m still breathing when I wake up on the grating. You see, I regenerated then, and the autopilot sent us careening toward Earth, only to stop on a dime near that Henrick’s I blew up. The place where I met Rose. Oh Rassilon... all those children. Children, Jack! Piles of them, huge mounds of flesh, children and animals and adults, mounded like offerings as they fall in front of me. Yet I... am. I...am. I am. Alive. I am alive. Running like the coward Koschei and Davros and countless others have named me, I leave and pull the closure tight behind, insuring the reticence of the most massive Temporal Lock in future history.”

 

The Doctor’s body caught itself up then, undulating in a rigid tremor that left him as quickly as it came.

 

“Rassilon but I want to pass out. What about you lot? You know you’re not going to be able to take your work home with you this trip, not with all my baggage, too.”

 

Jack released the breath he’d been holding and looked around.  The UNIT soldiers standing around them in the lift hadn’t spoken since The Doctor had started his speech, and the way they looked, they weren’t likely to speak at all for the rest of the day. Hell, they were probably all going to need massive counseling. Maybe if he had enough Retcon...

 

“Doctor, I could... ”

 

None of them moved, spoke. Said anything. They had expected it.

 

“No. Don’t use those things, Jack. They’re shamefully indelicate. I’ll do it.”

 

The alien sounded tired, impossibly tired... and it was frightening, that tiredness. Even still, he let his blue smoke eyes slide shut, and soon, every normal human was swaying and yawning. __

_“Und zu alles, eine gute Nacht.”_

 

The Time Lord’s mental voice was calming enough that it nearly lulled _Jack_ to sleep, and _he’d_ had the training.

 

Soon, as the lift halted its slow ascent, the last soldier folded, crumpling gently to the floor. But when a flapping arm and elbow struck the alien’s ribs, a sharp gasp wracked him and he collapsed on top of the pile. Motoko Kusanagi stepped forward, the sky blue eyes of her new body slicing at Jack. The cyborg’s perfect face could hold a cutting glare with such skill as others might hold memories of lovers. Perhaps she too had lost someone?  Jack watched her kneel beside The Doctor, who was blinking weakly up at her.

 

 _“Sorry, Major,”_ he murmured within the uplink, _“... it hurt. I was in too much pain to breathe for a bit, and blacked out before I could switch to my respiratory bypass. It’s all right.  I’ll be quite my irksome self again after an hour’s kip. Just...help me to the TARDIS, would you? And set it for Jack’s flat. I need -and very much want- to see the twins, but Jack can take the slow way home. It’ll do him some good to take the air, after today.”_

 _“Don’t apologize, Doctor. You have every right to be unnerved after such a resurgence of emotional trauma. You’re still in shock, and it’s been a long week. And you took such care to ease the soldiers into sleep. That, coupled with that broken rib I gifted you with, had to have taken it out of you. Even the Imprimatur has its limits.  Am I wrong?”_

 _“Alas, no. Motoko-kun... you’re Brilliant. I’ve been tortured countless times, and still... I never get used to that morning after ache. Do you?”_

 _“Doctor, I’m a cyborg.”_

 _“Oh, right! Sorry!”_

 _“Get some sleep. Just make sure you wake up.”_

 _“I shall, I shall. Good night, Motoko. And thank you.”_

 _“Don’t get all sentimental on me, now. It’ll ruin your image.”_

 _Ha! Leave an old man to his rest. I need my beauty sleep!”_

 _“No arguments there. Ahahahah. Good night to you too, Doctor. Sleep well.”_

Jack felt strange as he watched the Major haul The Doctor away as gingerly as she could without jarring his half healed ribcage. They reminded him of one another, in a sense. As he stood there, watching the TARDIS doors close, he wondered absently if the receding doors with their faded blue paint were more than slightly symbolic of his bad timing. God why couldn’t he have opened his mouth sooner rather than later? If he’d said yes, maybe then... Theta would have... no. The milk was spilt. And the Time Lord had never looked so stressed, so exhausted, not even after the problems he’d had in delivering the twins... he would have given anything to wipe that away. Except he hadn’t said a word. He’d done exactly nothing. What did that say about his personal priorities to a man who’d had to destroy his entire planet to save the universe?

 

It was always the little things that killed a relationship, Jack reasoned to himself as he closed his eyes and listened to the TARDIS’ departing hum. Too bad he’d gotten the memo a few hundred years too late.


	14. Chapter 14

“Well, Ianto, that’s about it. Basically. Basically because I don’t feel like wiping your mind right now.”

 

“Course, sir. God... Jack hasn’t been by yet, sir. Are you worried? I know I am, after a tale like that.”

 

The Time Lord reached over, grasping the Welshman’s strong cheek between two slender fingers and giving him a good pinch and shake.

 

“Don’t be. Our favorite chew toy will be about, sooner or later. Have you made yourself comfortable, young man? There’s tea somewhere... I know I bought it.”

 

He turned to the big black leather chair, where the twins were beginning to rouse.

 

“You’ve done us proud, with those two... which, in essence, settles it, at least in my book. You’re hired!”

 

They both laughed.

 

“Honestly, I could whip up some eggs and sausages for you, if you like, Mister Jones. Adric and Jamie won’t need feeding for a few minutes, and that’s just enough time to make a tidy little omelet. I know _I_ could use something... ”

 

The Doctor started to get up from the sofa, but Ianto shook his head.

 

“I already made some bangers and mash. Quality stuff, the bangers in your fridge. I’ll get some onto the china for you while you get into your cozies. Can’t have you walking around hungry in day worn trousers all afternoon, can we?”

 

But Theta Sigma wasn’t listening. He was looking at his two boys, one hand holding his chin below a deepening frown. Easy to get lost in such an ocean of thoughts, Ianto supposed, with his usual grim certainty. It wasn’t remotely his place to bother the man, or any man really, whose eyes held that much darkness. He really couldn’t help watching though. The alien was just so... intriguing, so...

 

“Fascinated are we, Ianto Jones? Well, once everyone’s gotten their nibble and kip, I don’t think Earth’ll mind too much if we leave her on her own for a few minutes...wot say?”

 

Ianto felt happy and sick at once. The Doctor was asking him to... he’d asked him to... Abruptly he clapped a hand into his mouth and ran to the toilet. A few seconds after, a cool, smooth hand flattened itself against his back, rubbing and patting gently, while another felt his forehead.

 

“We all right then, Jonesy?” said The Doctor as he helped Ianto to his feet, “... thought you looked a fair bit green in there. So, figured this would happen, from experience. Got loads of experience, me! Heh, heh. Well... you should wait a bit before you eat anything, eh? Mustn’t let ourselves get too overwhelmed, else the unpleasantness tends to creep up and bite us on the, erm... ”

 

Ianto coughed once, then wiped his mouth with a clean flannel.

 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

 

“Oh, my pleasure. Just don’t call me sir. Any mate of Jack’s is a mate of mine. And besides, I hear you’ve been pining after a trip for some time. But first, we’ve got to get some milk in you, settle your stomach. Here we go, off to the sofa, one two three!”

 

Then the alien grabbed the wall, balancing the younger man as they made their way back to the den. He settled Ianto onto the couch with a last pat on the back, then traipsed off to the kitchen to round up his dinner and some milk.

 

“Nothing like a base to neutralize an acid, eh? Acid... reminds me of those pesky Krillitanes... poor sods.”

 

Ianto looked up and grinned. “Oh, could... could we meet some of those?”

 

“Ermmm... no. You don’t want to, trust me. We might end up as lunch. In fact you could say would. They’ve gotten a bit cheeky for the taste of Time Lord, these days. It couldn’t do for the future of the universe if they got their hands on me. Now, drink your milk, Ianto. We don’t want you chucking over Jack’s nice hardwoods. I swear... the man’s barmy over the floors, if you ask me.”

 

Ianto looked at the glass with wide eyes and stuck a hand out.  He still felt queasy, but the milk would help. And so would getting to know the man who’d gotten it for him. It was hard to believe The Doctor was just standing there, holding his milk for him like a doting granddad.

 

“We all set then? Coz I really need to fetch me some eats ‘fore I end up in a face plant.”

 

Ianto nodded and drained the last of the milk. Then he frowned. “Doctor... didn’t you say you were going to get that plate I set for you when you got me this?” He held up the empty glass.  The alien blinked at it, then came around to sit beside him, flopping down heavily on his right.

 

“I did say that, didn’t I? Bollocks. Must be more out of it then I thought. Why don’t we both go fetch some dinner after a short kip?”

 

“After a kip, then. Those boys of yours are adorable, but... Are you sure you’re all right, sir? I mean, Doctor? Jack said you’ve been looking a bit pale since you woke up.”

 

The Time Lord turned to smile at him then leaned back against the sofa, arms stretched out languidly over the back.

 

“Hah! He said that, did he? Well, I am a trifle yawnish, I’ll admit it. And I _do_ want something to eat, but, right now, I think I should like very much to just rest here and listen to you tell me how lovely my boys are until we both fall asleep, huh? Does that sound very much like a winner to you, Ianto Jones?”

 

“Oh, yes sir! Yes Doctor, I mean! Promise you won’t, er, forget to take me for a spin in that lovely ship of yours, sir? I rather have been pining... I just, never had a chance to ask till now. Didn’t think it proper to ask yet.”

 

Ianto gulped, watching as The Doctor eyed him like a bird after a worm, and then all at once the alien’s face broke into a soft little grin.

 

“Course not, sweetheart. Come here and hug me. You know you want to!”

 

His arms were open, inviting... and the Welshman couldn’t help but give it a try, snuggling into the man’s chest, filling his nostrils with that sweet, otherworldly scent. Oh, that scent... the Time Lord smelled of Christmas cookies and banana bread, of floury kitchens and grandmothers’ aprons... the studies of old men, full of delicious smoky tobacco and cool deep woods and fragrant, spicy fruit.

 

“Jack will tease me... ” he whimpered, burying his face in that long ginger hair.

 

“Oh, come on! Let’s not think of such things, my boy! Just... let yourself drift, get some of that pent up anxiety off your shoulders, eh? That’s it... just... let it go... let it go... let it go... ” The Doctor sank back further into the sofa, drawing Ianto’s head into his lap.

 

“That’s it... sleep. Just... sleep. You _want_ to sleep. Sleep will renew you, let you dream, sort this out. Oh, yes. This is what you want. You want to dream, to sleep, deeply... comfortably... and now you’re drifting... sleeping, quite deeply... preparing to dream... and it’s a long dream, isn’t it? Oh, yes... ”

 

Then he touched the Welshman’s forehead with his thumb, stroking just above the eyes. “... a very long dream... happy and pleasant. You like this dream. It soothes you, fills a need... and when you wake from this dream, you will be refreshed, enthused, ready for our trip. I’ll be waiting.” He sat there, caressing the man’s face for a little while, tamping down shivers because, well... the Welshman reminded him of Susan, when she’d been so small, so innocent. Deftly he removed his hand and slid out from beneath Ianto’s body, then grabbed up a throw, placing it over the man.

 

“I promise you’ll have your turn, Ianto Jones. But I need to skip over to 2032 Japan and drop off the Major.”

 

His feet carried him as far as the kitchen door. Motoko was waiting just outside, probably, if she hadn’t returned to the TARDIS to get her cyborg body out of the cold. She didn’t need to, of course, but old habits seldom died gracefully. And as he turned from that egress, he saw that there was indeed a modest plate of sausages with sour cream and scallion potatoes on the table. He tucked in, quickly cleaning the plate of all but one lonely sausage, which he stuck in his mouth as he backtracked to the den to glare at the boys, who were eyeing him.

 

“Mum,” they said in unison, their shady little grins dripping with infantile hunger as he came toward them.

 

“Aren’t you going to feed us before you drop her off? We ate this morning, but you were still asleep. The fare wasn’t as good. Sure gave Daddy a fright, though.”

 

That was Adric, the sandy haired one.

 

Then the dark-haired brother Jamie chimed in, and Adric fell silent.

 

“Ha! You should have seen him, running about! He thought you were dying till he reached under your shirt and found your lactation.”

 

“Oh yes, Da. Father has quite the filthy mind.”

 

Adric again. Lovely little chap, he was, with hair just like Fivey’s.

 

“You noticed? I’ll have to speak to him about that. Thank you for telling me, Adric m’love. Don’t know what I’d do without you two to keep us in line.”

 

He ruffled their still sparse hair, and both boys leaned into his touch, their joy in his maternal caresses waxing exotic with a purity that was... utterly intoxicating.

 

“Mmmm. My darling, precious devil children... have you shown your father you can speak yet? Or are you saving it for later, you little rascals? You’ve got something planned, I can tell! Be good boys and tell me, then. I want to be in on this.”

 

Two thin little heads swerved left and right, and then a sound emerged from the two headed beast that sounded suspiciously like an ultimatum.

 

“Uh- uh. No.  Not till you feed us, Da. We’re starved.”

 

First Adric.

 

Then Jamie.

 

“Yes. Starved.”

 

They were positively plaintive, learned that from Jack, they did. But Theta wasn’t moved.

 

“So that’s it, eh? Maybe I’ll just hold my milk for ransom.”

 

The Time Lord cocked his head, playfully twirling with his hair and looking around, making a point to ignore them.

 

“We shall shrivel and die. Daddy is punishing us for being naughty.”

 

But blue-eyed, black haired Jamie put a finger to Adric’s mouth and said, “... wait, Ad. He wants us to reason it out. Let us discover what it is he wants us to do. Then we shall be able to bargain much more effectively.”

 

One quiet chuckle from the man who gave them birth froze them in place.

 

“No chance of that, boys. Oh, I love you dearly, but you’re still no match for me, I’m afraid. Try again when you’re older. Besides,” he looked away slowly, a sort of manic darkness washing over his face, “... I was going to feed you anyway, you little beasts. Up we go!”

 

Pulling the green top over his head as he grinned at them, he scooped both boys into his arms and then eased himself down into the black chair. Each boy sought out a hard teat swollen full of milk, and soon they were busily drinking him dry. “Atta, boys! That’s the spirit! Oi... what a way to drain the keggers. __”

 

“Indeed.” A distinctly feminine voice pervaded the chorus of muted suckling.

 

“Major? Fancy meeting you here, love! I thought you’d decided to wait in the TARDIS. Well, seeing as you didn’t, it’s nice to have you,” he paused, craning his neck to avoid disturbing the twins, “... though, you’ll have to find your own seat. I’m a bit busy, at the moment.”

 

Motoko Kusanagi laughed at the sight of him, a shirtless domestic breastfeeding his twin children, born the week before on the floor of a bomb shelter in the middle of an alien invasion.

 

“Have you gotten any sleep yet, Doctor? I noticed the Welshman in there sleeping particularly deeply. Please tell me you didn’t help that along. Your mental voice belies your own need for a reprieve. Has Jack been-”

 

“No. I thought he would be here by now... but he might just be off at a pub, or gone to Torchwood. I’m never quite sure what’s on his mind unless I’m standing next to him, but by then, you pretty much know, because he’s stroking your bum like a filthy letch, the handsy blighter.”

 

“Yes, but he’s _your_ handsy blighter.”

 

“True. Major... let’s continue this on the uplink. I have a feeling things may turn personal, and I don’t want the children to hear.”

  
She nodded, crossing one leg over the other as she settled herself carefully on a kitchen chair. The Doctor had fixed it so that her new body could sit on an egg without breaking the shell, if circumstances required. She had to make sure the brilliant alien got some rest. __

_“As you wish, Doctor. But doesn’t this require a bit more of your mental energy? Ah. I take it you haven’t re-engaged the Imprimatur, yet. Don’t make me tie you to the bed.”_

Feeding done with, he put the twins to bed behind him and rose, moving to stand closer to her chair. She rose as well, and their gazes met. __

_“I’m too tired to sleep. I am sorry, Motoko. I realize that everyone’s worried about me, especially after I told everyone I’d turned off the Imprimatur, but I just... I just can’t... face them again.”_

 

He yawned, holding to the side of the wall as his sleep-deprived sense of balance threw him against it. 

 

 _“I know I need to rest. But my dead won’t let me.”_

Abruptly his face lost its brightness, and she could see him begin to sag against the wall. __

_“You’re worrying me, Doctor. You’re too weak to stand up. Why not just reactivate the Imprimatur and take this up with the TARDIS? Surely she can find some way to relieve your grief long enough for you to take an hour, process a sedative, something to help you find some respite.”_

 _“Huh. Don’t you think I’ve tried, Motoko? She can’t, I can’t. They won’t leave me be! And now that I’ve... relived it yet again, after leaving Rose and all of this... I don’t know that I ever want to reactivate the nuclei. I have to eventually, to preserve the Time Lines... but... perhaps I won’t, just for a little while. I’ll leave in the TARDIS, and then everyone can stop worrying about me. It’ll be all right. I’m fine. I’m always fine, I’m always...I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine! You’ll see! I’m right as rain... ”_

 

He raised one hand, preparing to give her what for, but fell asleep instead, propped up solely by the wall.

 

She sighed and carried him to the bedroom, where she settled him under the bedding, keeping his spine straight and covering anything that needed covering.

 

“Huh? Oh dear. I’m not... I don’t feel at all well. Is that you, Major? There’s this obscene ringing in my ears... ” he breathed the words, turning to his bypass system out of necessity this time, rather than convenience.

 

At least he was awake again.  

 

“I apologize for... deactivating the Imprimatur, Major. That... that was... beyond foolish on my part, and it’s affecting my... immune... system. Moving me is not a good idea, at least... until we get this fever down. Stupid stress! I don’t have time for this!”

 

“I could say I told you so, but I’d be abusing an absent man,” she murmured, then she withdrew into the uplink to connect with the TARDIS.

 

If not for Her, she would be running scans on him till nightfall, trying to figure out which chemical compounds would be safe to sedate him with. “Don’t worry, Doctor.” She placed her hand over his forehead and felt his temperature. “Mm. You have a fever again. I’m going to have SalingerFan17 track down Captain Harkness and alert him. Someone’s got to have their hands free while I hold you down, or else you’re not getting any medication tonight.”

 

“Hah! Syrus’ _Maxims!_ I take it you... already had the old girl whip up a batch of... uh... ”

 

His eyes closed briefly, and he drew a hard breath, wheezing a little.

 

“Oh, bollocks. It’s... mucking up my autonomic nervous systems... difficult to breathe... trying to... switch to bypass. Going to attempt sitting up, get the hearts running smoothly... ”

 

His fingers clutched at the sides of the bed, and he pushed upward into her waiting hands. To his failing vision, the room resembled the Titanic, dipping and swaying and turning like an Escher portrait. It hurt to focus his eyes, so he closed them again, and the Major helped him lie back.

 

“Eh! _Absentem laedit, cum ebrio qui litigat._ Something... to that effect. Oh, I really don’t feel like staying awake. Have you got that sedative, yet? I can’t wait much longer... In fact, I think I’m going to faint. Good night, Susan!”

 

He wilted into unconsciousness then, just as a knock came at the front door of the flat.

 

“Captain Harkness, It’s me, Kusanagi Motoko! We’re in here!” Kusanagi called from the bedroom, “... he’s feverish... I don’t dare leave him, either. He’s done something with the nuclei. He said it was stupid, but that doesn’t help him much now, does it? He needs monitoring... ”

 

All Jack could see was the bedroom door as he rushed through the flat.

 


	15. Chapter 15

<Huff>

 

<Huff>

 

<Huff>

 

<Huff>

 

He could see it. The lot was in view, just a few more metres...then he could rest and think and breathe, and do all those other things one did after a long bout of self-contemplation. It had been a very long jog, but he’d finally managed to wear himself out five miles east of the flat. Then it had been actual work getting the rest of the way back, as evidenced by the remains of the shoes on his feet. His beloved shoes...they were in shreds...course, by the looks of them, they felt more like tatterdemalions, being as that they had suffered the last indignity when he’d lost his balance five hours into the run whilst trying to avoid a speeding car and gotten his foot stuck in a drainage grate. The left converse hadn’t been the same after that. Allowing himself a last burst of adrenaline, he sprinted for the lot, senses flying out before him as a blue public call box came into view. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, panting in the cold air. His breath was frost against the dawn half light, and he would have felt like singing if he could only catch it. His lungs were iced from all that running. Well he _did_ love to run. And the ache was good; it lit his veins with the fire of life like nothing else in the universes. Uni _verse,_ really...absently he wondered if he would ever be lucky enough to experience the plurality of existence again, now that so many doors were closed to him. The blue box was nearer, he could feel a warm humming reverberate through his slight frame as he came closer. All that peeling paint...she was a welcome sight after so long an absence. He’d purposefully gone for his little jaunt out the front way, to avoid her. She was going to have her way with him about that, but that was all right. So was he. He was home, _with_ her again after a week of mutual segregation. Even after everything, those doors of hers would always open for him. Her heart was bigger on the inside, like everything about her. She was always ever his beloved and beautiful ship, that _one_ out of all his companions who remained the most faithful. The only one who was able to. Death and Time were nobody’s fault, after all, and who knew that better than he? Blame would never cast its shadow on any of his friends and lovers, so long as he still twitched with glee at falling stars and chocolate and the bleary smiles of children who’d puzzled out what he was. He, The Doctor, was their Champion, their knight in armor out of myth...he who wielded a magickal pen in place of a sword, as the saying went. He was perfectly fine with a sword though, if he had one. ‘course the pen was  better, despite the fact that it really wasn’t a pen at all, more of a...Swiss Army laser pointer _-minus the laser, those things hurt-_ capable of doing quite a bit more than the usual hundred and one rather fantastic things with sound and light. He’d rebuilt his sonic several times, rebuilt the TARDIS just as many. Rebuilt himself along the way, for good or for ill. And it was so _very_ good for him to hear her humming in his head again.

 

She looked so magnificent in the deepening morning. And the ground beside her looked very nice indeed, so nice the Time Lord thought perhaps he might have a sit there, and as he reached the middle section of the lot, he found he could see nothing else but her. His brilliant beauty’s concern radiated through him as he flattened his back against her faded blue hull and slid down, wanting nothing more than to stay quiet and breathe and watch the sun come up over the terran landscape.

 

 _“I take it you reactivated the nuclei.”_

 

He smiled at the voice. He’d known Jack was there before Jack had. How long had he been waiting there, hidden by the TARDIS’ slim blue bulk? “Are you properly clothed? It’s a fair bit nippy, of late.” His thoughts turned to his own clothes...the black trousers, the tank, the ruins of his latest pair of white converse. “Scare an old man half to death, you. What happened to make you decide that camping out here behind the old girl was a bright idea?”

 

Jack stuck a hand up and delivered three limp knocks to the painted wood of the ship’s disguise. “What made _you_ think it’s all right to just go off whenever you feel like it, Mister I’m the Crossing Guard of the Known Universe? You pull crap like this, and I can almost believe you didn’t care that we were worrying ourselves to death over you last night.”

 

“Did you just say something to the effect of _who died and made you God?_ Very subtle of you, Jack. I’m almost appreciative. How considerate of you to ruin the moment. I was in no threat of dying, you silly man. I just...was trying to face up to my depressive bent.

Just think of last night as a sort of...late onset allergic reaction to all the angst I’ve built up over the past nine hundred years, give or take.” The man’s fist struck the hull, and Theta felt his body clench as Jack’s emotional radiation washed over him like bitter salt spray from a storm at sea. “Oh, is _that_ what this is becoming? Our first Domestic. Well, leave me out of it. And leave my ship alone. If you want to take your anger out on something, take it out on the pavement or that huge rubbish bin yon, or better yet, on me. I can take quite a lot of intensive torture, contrary to popular belief. In fact, I can’t count the number of times I’ve been subjected to that sort of thing by angry, generally unpleasant types...but that’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re angry at me. I can feel it running off you, even without your obvious inability to control yourself manifesting as a fist into my TARDIS’ side. The poor girl is in knots about me as is, without you digging the hole deeper. Good going, Jack!” His sensitive hearing pricked like a trip wire at the scrabbling noise emanating from the other side of the ship. Jack was getting to his feet. But, the man made no attempt to leave the shadow of the TARDIS, not even to meet The Doctor halfway.

 

“Are you trying to tell me something, Theta Sigma?

Or is this whole, convoluted business just Time Lord for ‘ _It’s not you, it’s me?’”_

“Well, it _is_ me, Jack. I cause trouble wherever I go. I can’t help it. And the going...that’s something else I can’t help. ‘snot safe for children, my traveling. Too many bumps and bruises to be had. Susan was different. She was older, she understood why I...” _Oh, Jack, don’t be this way!_ _Please see it!_ But Theta could feel him deflate, feel all of that which was Jack Harkness slump into an emotional mire for all of two slogging minutes.

 

“...oh. Is that what you think, then? That we can’t cope with your true self? That a stupid ape couldn’t possibly comprehend the depths of your grief, your shame, your self-involvement? It’s a sorry kind of genius who can’t be honest with himself, let alone be kind enough to share his burden with people who desperately need to help him. Thanks a lot, Doctor. You can’t trust us inferior beings? That’s fine! Just don’t expect to get custody rights in this century. You’re the deadbeat, after all. And you left your granddaughter with a stranger.”

 

Oh.

 

God.

 

Oh.

 

God.

 

Oh.

 

God.

 

Oh god.

 

So. Well.

 

Jack had... hidden it... so well.

 

He hadn’t realized Jack could... do that, hide himself like that. He should have guessed. More than guessed. He should have known. But he didn’t blame the man. How could he? Everything was true, in its way. He should have done so many things... like getting up. His hands were on the side of his ship, curling numbly against the wood as he struggled to rise, to push himself up and stand. He kept falling, kept slipping back down. There was water on his face. Salty water. He was crying, and the tears weren’t going to stop this time. Not like before. Not like the other times, when he’d at least had a modicum of strength. His breath stranded him, and he clung to the TARDIS like a drowning man, sick and weak and crumpled on her vestibule as though... well it _was_ the end of the world, wasn’t it? And how many times had he survived that?

 

His throat grew thick as pain blossomed in his breast and branched in a thousand directions within his slight body. He was shaking, and he was certain Jack could feel him trembling through the wood. It was all he could do not to scramble up and run after the man as the quiet footsteps echoed toward the flat.

 

Away. He needed that word, away. Needed to be it. Yes. Running would make it better, make it less. He crawled to the twin doors, aching, his chest heaving dry sobs at the wakening sky as he dragged himself inside his ship like a dying animal. Perhaps, once he was inside, logic would return to him. Perhaps he could fill one psychodramatic hole with another, creating a moebius strip of loss with the shreds of his psyche until finally, the ends met in the middle and became one again. Whole and sick was always better than partial and healthy. Koschei had shown him that, time and again. _You were right, Koschei... they don’t understand, but they can’t help it! They can’t..._ he managed, tossing himself on a grating near the control console. He was close to blacking out, and the TARDIS, his beauty, she was already setting herself to autopilot, lulling him with her quiet hum. She dematerialized, taking with her nothing but himself, for yet another trip amongst the stars. He could have kissed her, had he been awake. But he wasn’t.


	16. Chapter 16

“Jack. How did it go?” the Welshman said again, bouncing Adric on his shoulder.

 

The man in question simply shook his head and turned back to nurse his vodka.

 

“Hah! Heeyaytitlyshuhtruuper! Chugdidolldowlykeesomushwotter. Heeey mavodkushwoorrm... arweeshposhtalike woormvodka? IthotIliketitwishlemon... butthasissee. Mnottasissee, amIYanto?”

 

The blue eyes drifted up, reddened. But sad as it looked, Jack wasn’t even really drunk yet, he was just putting on a show for the twins. Silently, Ianto thanked the Major for whatever she did to get Jamie to stay in bed, because it was already time for Adric’s bath. They’d had to be separated after the incident outside due to their penchant for plotting, which had grown to magnanimous proportion while the adults were otherwise involved with their parents’ one sided pretend quibble. The two little rascals had managed to escape their pen on a jolly lark and subsequently taken apart the toaster... the television... the coffee machine... suffice it that there was wiring everywhere. At least they still listened to Uncle. Apparently, they’d never once listened to Jack, the way Jack told it. Maybe he’d realized they were more aware, after all.

 

Soon, bath time was over and done with, and both The Doctor’s little bugaloos were safe in their beds, well and truly asleep by the Major’s estimation. Bloody accurate, too, because the woman never seemed to find occasion to guess.

 

“Most parents generally try to act sober in front of their children. What do you think he would have said to their being anywhere near that bottle, in his state?”

 

Ever the voice of reason, she was. Then again, much as the Time Lord and the Time Agent, Kusanagi had been around long enough to know when life required subtlety.

 

And Jack was slumped in a cherry wood kitchen chair that looked far too ginger for his comfort, sipping water from a well cleansed vodka bottle.

 

“Theta... he’s still not recovered completely... he can’t be after what I... what I just did to him. If he had been healthy, he wouldn’t have broken down at all! I should have... I just... Damn it, Ianto! I wish I could have told him. He deserves to know! The one thing that would make him happy, and I can’t tell him yet! I can’t tell him! Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

 

“He’s going to come back, Jack. He has to.”

 

Again the Major was speaking to him, being cryptic in the way of a classic Japanese cyberpunk goddess, such as she was. A brilliant hacker, too.

 

“We have more in common than you know, he and I. _Deus Ex Machina_ , as they say. This camaraderie, it suits us. But I need to return to my own time, take what I’ve learned and swallow it. So, as I said, he’ll show up again. The threads of fate must be preserved.”

 

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. What I had to say to him, it pushed his buttons. He actually cried, right there in front of me. The little boy in me wanted so badly to run to him, but of course, that was the one thing I couldn’t do. Just like he couldn’t do anything for Rose. Or Donna. Or for anyone, you’d think, the way he just kept blubbering like an hysterical child. Oh god, Ianto... I never want to see that again. I can’t do that to him again. I don’t have it in me.”

 

“I know that. I’m here, Jack. I’m here. Just kiss me.”

 

The Welshman always did know what to say. Jack took him in his arms and squeezed, then swooped in to steal a tender kiss, pulling away just as the going got. Ianto tasted like saltwater taffy, good and fresh and soul lifting. A snog with him was as sunny as daylight. But The Doctor... he tasted of rain, of the time before twilight when everything slept and there was no sound. He tasted of beautiful risk, of safety, of the dangers inherent in unguarded proclivity. Those thin alien lips... the kisses they could craft, ripe and rich in the fullness of secret knowledge that only madness tempered with altruism could bring. The Doctor was his absinthe, but he was not The Doctor’s. No. The Lonely God danced only with Death, despite lifetimes of avoidance, of pleading. Of pain. There was no way to place it, elsewise. No way to parse the tide of unhappy information their lives had become. Both of them had passed through her veil to the other side of madness so many times, but still... after all of this, the fear of death still moved them to action. At least, Jack thought to himself, he could take solace in their shared fate. A shadow intruded on his diatribe suddenly, and he recognized the quiet footfalls as surely as he recognized the sound of his own voice.

 

“How long have you been here, Doctor?”

 

The alien came into the light then and just stood there, staring. There was such a smile on his face, such a warm, relaxing curl of the lips. It was almost a crime against God, wanting him to speak. Willing it. Jack had to grin at that, though... because somehow, they had both gotten release today. They were overdue for another disaster, always waiting, rotting in solitude as they watched from their wooden towers.

 

“Hrm. Dance only with Death, do I? Yes, I suppose that’s true, much as I try to forget. She, like the moon, is a harsh mistress, for in her face the truth of beauty is reflected, and forgotten is the lie. You and I... we have been lost in the dark for so very long. But, despite that, you... ”

 

The Time Agent stared back, savoring the puzzle even as he worked it out.

 

“What are you saying? Are you telling me I’m missing something, or that I haven’t missed anything at all? That’s it, isn’t it? Enigma inside a conundrum inside a riddle. I guess that means you’ve seen me _die_ , only you can’t tell me _._ And I’ve got something I can’t tell you, at least not yet. Christ, Theta. That last slow dance had better give us both what we’ve needed, or I swear, by every god I’ve never met, if I can’t move Heaven I’ll raise Hell. We’ve saved too many lives for sacrifice to be a fool’s work.”

 

He splashed his face with the flats of his hands, as if expecting the numbing sting of ice water.

 

 _“Quod sum eris,”_ Theta Sigma said sadly, extending an arm and clutching the man’s head to his breast as sunlight gathered around them from the new dawn sun, lighting every surface with the glint of gold.    

 

\---

 

Flash.

 

\---

 

Then the vision was ended, and there was wet pavement beneath them. Jack’s head was in the Doctor’s lap. The Time Lord was stroking the man’s hair as though gentling a child, while those tumbling falls of ginger trickled down and hung, tickling the Captain’s cheek as they pooled across human skin. It was as though his secret failings were being buried in a desert of smooth red sand. He slept. And there would be no questing for _this_ grail. Not for a long time yet.

 

With a sigh, the Time Lord uncrossed his legs and carefully slid himself out from beneath his friend’s upper body. He’d left the man a short time to go and get dressed, and the clothes he had on now were all solid whites and blacks, very crisp, very office. They reminded him distinctly of Turlough. And to think the trousers were his last pair, the very last pair of good slacks with trans-dimensional pockets...

 

“Might as well complete the ensemble, eh, self?” he muttered, fishing in his left for a pair of scissors.

 

Then he reached up, grabbed his hair, and...

 

“Don’t, Theta!” Jack murmured, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, “... that was _-some-_ glamour you laid on me, you, you Robin Goodfellow, you. How long did you think you were going to let me sleep? Till the cows came home?”

 

“Erm, yes. And possibly the chickens.” The scissors lowered a finger’s length. Course, as for whose finger, that was up for debate.

 

“Oh, come on, Doctor! Glare no. 456 _again_? That’s so unoriginal. Just accept it. You’re delicious this way, and very, very Beck. You know, oddball American songwriter, long hair, shirt and tie, lanky as a stick.”

 

“... we know each other. Are you saying I’m pretty? Come to think of it, River Song said that too. Well, I suppose I could keep it around a while longer... but just think of all the low hanging branches and moose traps and commercial jet turbines I’d get caught in... not pretty.”

 

“...Doctor, you can’t fly. Did I mention you also look like that gorgeous stepchild Lyude from that console game Baten Kaitos?”

 

“ _What?_ You frighten me. And technically I _can_ fly, but I’d have to regenerate into a Krillitane or a Beslan. Or a Weeping Angel or something. Wait, no, not a Weeping Angel, they’re assassins, nasty things. They have this obscene tendency to disguise themselves as Victorian seraphic statuary. Don’t ask.”

 

“Hah. I won’t. I’m Captain Cheesecake, remember? There’s my reputation to uphold.” Jack reached up to touch the Time Lord’s hair. “Besides... you’ve got your _Cestrum latifolium_ , and I’ve got my _Bard of Dayspring_.”

 

Theta Sigma simply smiled, enjoying the reference for what it was.

 

Then the two men released each other and stood.

 

“Let’s not make this a battle of the bands, eh? I’ll cry.”

 

“And I’ll bring the chips and the senseless debauchery.”

 

“Can’t you just bring the chips?”

 

“What? After all that, you can’t tell me you’re not interested.”

 

“I don’t do Domestic, Jack.”

 

“I know. I just thought, well... one last toss in the hay, for my sake?”

 

“We never had a first one.”

 

“You could remedy that. Just one night! One night, with you, in the TARDIS, that’s all I want. Please.”

 

“Aren’t you in the least bit worried you’ll get me in Trouble? This _body_ may be virgin, but I did have children once, Jack. And... grandchildren, too. Still, the Looms are overrated. Too much necessity, not enough sympathy.”

 

“The Looms?”

 

“Erm... they’re DNA mixers, Jack, used to create new life out of the old. The Looms were made to ensure the survival of our race, not long after we became Time Lords. The Pythia, who had maintained harsh rule over Gallifrey’s people for countless centuries, foresaw her own downfall in that moment, and so, because of that... _woman_ , every birth on Gallifrey henceforth was stillborn. The curse was lifted once, for one of my companions and her lover. But... any hope of that is gone, now.”

 

“Oh my God, Doctor, I... ”

 

Shush yourself. It’s quite all right. How could you have known? I don’t exactly play well with others, even in the best of circumstances. I’ve been alone too long, and that is how it must remain. But I don’t see why a little comforting between friends wouldn’t liven things up a bit. What say we take a nice little stroll in the TARDIS and... ”

 

“Are you sure you’re ready? I don’t want it if you don’t.”

 

“Don’t be silly. This is probably the only action I’ll ever get, this side of the Medusa Cascade.”

 

“Uh-huh. You don’t say. Well, as to your question, I figure you know what you’re doing when it comes to high-functioning machinery.”

 

“I’m not dignifying that.”

 

“Didn’t expect you to. Can we go inside the TARDIS now? I can’t give you a big send-off if we stand out here in the cold much longer.”

 

“Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. My normal body temperature is 60 degrees. Does that mean I can’t expect any fireworks?”

 

“Don’t push your luck, Doctor. I might just make your dreams come true.”

 

“Huh. It’s not that you wouldn’t try, Jack. I know you would. However... I doubt it. Though, to be honest, the notion of my carrying a viable pregnancy to term _does_ make me blush a bit. I _am_ a sensitive science geek who loves children, after all.”

 

“Uh, you know, Doctor, in some countries admitting that wouldn’t exactly be... never mind. Suit yourself. For Science, then!” Jack kissed the alien on the lips, shutting him up, and they fell together through the TARDIS’ double access onto the console room floor.

 

 _Three minutes later..._

 

 

“Theta!”

 

“Oh. My. Giddy. Aunt.”

 

“Oh, Doctor!”

 

“Oh dear.”

 

 

 _Three hours later..._

 

 

“My my my my my. Are you sure that thing didn’t come with a handbook?”

 

“Theta! Shut up and kiss me!”

 

“You mean like this?”

 

“ You kiss like a T’laxan Mouth Breeder!”

 

“I take it you approve then? Shall I steal another?”

 

 _“ <gulp.>_ I think I need a Doctor.”

 

“Oh, ho! I think so, too. Tired yet?”

 

 

 

 _Three days later..._

 

 

“Jack! Jack get in here!”

 

“What is it, Doctor? Is something wrong? What’s going on? Why are you running scans on yourself?”

 

But the alien just patted his stomach and smiled. “Just wanted to confirm my suspicions.”

 

“Suspicions? Theta? If you’re saying what I think you’re saying... ”

 

“I am. The chance of it happening was nigh an improbability, but... I am.”

 

Jack curled his lips into a soft smile, enjoying the triumph that had suddenly bathed the Time Lord’s entire manner. “Theta... ”

 

But the sound of rapping caught Jack’s attention, making him stop in mid-sentence and turn in the direction of the front of the flat. There was someone at the door.

 

He looked over at the alien, who shrugged it off.

 

“I know him. In fact, I knew who it was before you heard his knock, which is rather distinctive, by the way. A few years ago in New York, he was quite the hero agent at the local FBI office. Righted quite a few wrongs in his day, that one. But then, great minds think alike.”

 

Theta ruffled his own hair in sleepy delight, then rubbed at his body as though he’d never touched himself before. He felt a spectacular sort of awe at his condition, and that awe clinging to him like droplets of water after a bath. A baby, no. _babies_... three new lives all their own were growing inside him. It was gonna be fantastic!

 

“Say, Jack? Why don’t you let our visitor in? I called him last night. Go on! He won’t bite. Might kick though. Or shoot. He _is_ fond of shooting things. Almost as much as you. Go on, invite the man in! He’s a proper gentleman, he is! A throwback to Earth’s first golden era. A man out of step, much like the two of us. You’ll like him, Jack.”

 

One little wink. And that one little wink was all it ever took to get Jack to do whatever the Time Lord asked. And Jack knew it. So he went to the door, and let the man in.

 

“Aloysius! Splendid day, isn’t it?”

 

The Doctor grinned as the man, a tall, straight-backed albino in a crisp black Italian suit, followed Jack silently into the den.

 

“Yes, Doctor _Bloom._ A rather pleasant day indeed!” Aloysius nodded at Jack, his eyes bright and wide and fixed on the Time Lord.

 

“And I simply _must_ offer my congratulation. You have that certain glow about you.”

 

The Doctor moved to rise, but the albino strode to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Smiling faintly, Theta patted the hand, then took the man’s fingers in his and grasped them with more warmth than Jack had ever seen from him.

 

“Burning it was the right thing to do, you know. Still, with that rather spectacular memory of yours... ”

 

The alien stiffened in his chair, as though considering an option he wasn’t prepared to voice, and the smile in his eyes died abruptly.

 

“I’m glad you came, Aloysius. And you can drop the Bloom, unless you prefer it. I don’t really mind. But, in any case thank you for coming. I would never have rung you if it were manageable otherwise, but well... as you can see...” His deep brown eyes fell to his skinny stomach, and he sighed.

 

“I can’t do much of anything now, in my state. You were the only man I knew besides Jack and myself brilliant enough to... handle things. Jack is going, of course. I will provide technical support from the TARDIS, should you require it. But I can’t go with. It would be far too dangerous for my unborn, what with the possibility of dying and regenerating and such.”

 

“I agree. Tell me what I need to know.”   




 

A pause.

 

“All right. Allons-y, then. The signal is coming from this planet, and I’ve gotten a lock on it, but I shouldn’t go near it, if you take my meaning. Not until I’m a bit farther along. I need at least that much time to prepare myself before I... touch it. Because if it’s what I think it is... ” The Doctor looked away from their eyes, away from the world, turning inward to the sea of memories and sensations that filled his every waking moment. “... my luck has just run out.”

 

\---

 

 FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first, this fic was written right before the news about Matt Smith came out. I was just finishing it when his name was announced, hence the alternate Doctor no. Eleven.
> 
> Also, due to something I saw once about Gordon Lightfoot not wanting his lyrics to be used in anything, I have changed a line in the last chapter, chapter sixteen, to: SEE BELOW.
> 
>  
> 
> "Besides... you've got your Cestrum latifolium, and I've got my Bard of Dayspring."
> 
> Ultimately, every other instance of my story in every other fanfiction archive will be changed, once I find them all, as I do NOT wish the copyright police to be inclined in a negative light toward my person. EEEEEEK!


End file.
